


One Thing That You Might Have Missed

by aftereighteen



Category: Swimming RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Forbidden Love, M/M, Prompt Fill, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 16:36:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 53,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aftereighteen/pseuds/aftereighteen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt-fill for Olympics ficathon part 2 on LJ, for the following prompt: "Something with a forbidden love kind of theme? In the previous ficathon, someone prompted a big age gap between them which could possibly fit into the forbidden love idea if played right..."</p><p>aka: when Michael is fourteen, his sister brings her twenty-one year old boyfriend home from college and Michael's done.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Thing That You Might Have Missed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Freezey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Freezey/gifts).



> I don't want to spoil the plot for this, but please be assured that there is none of the following: underage anything; rape/non-con; incest; boyfriend-stealing.
> 
> One day, I'll write a fic where the summary isn't "kind of AU, where Michael is Michael and Ryan is someone else!" That day has not yet arrived. Sorry.
> 
> This wouldn't have been possible without Ellanna's help. Thank you a million times. I hope you like it.

When Michael’s alarm goes off, he reaches an arm out and bats it into submission with a groan. He can hear the rain against his window, and the creaking that means the house is slowly waking up already: the boiler has kicked in and the hot water is on; he can’t hear it, but he knows that the coffee pot is bubbling away in the kitchen and, if it were a school day, his Mom would be bustling around getting ready for her day at work. 

Michael switches the lamp on his nightstand on, wincing as the light hits his eyes and forces him further awake. He pulls the notebook he keeps in the drawer over and opens it to the page he’s currently on, making another mark next to the dozens preceding it. When Michael, his Mom and his coach had sat down just over two years previously and mapped out his future, he’d found it hard to comprehend exactly what he was letting himself in for. The years had stretched ahead in an indeterminate fashion, to a point beyond double Michael’s current age. It had all washed over him in a blur, and his abiding memory of the meeting was wanting to just jump in the pool and start. His skin had itched for it, for the miles ahead of him, for the medals and the cheers of the dreams that he’d dreamt.

The first six months had been easy, but then the real work had started. And that’s when Michael had begun making notes. Most days just involved a mark in his book, which now looks like a crazy mass of tallies. Some mornings, Michael blinks at the page and the lines melt together into a messy blob. Each scratch signifies another session, another step closer. Michael isn’t sure at the moment what he’s reaching for – of course, he and his coach set goals for every practice, every week, every meet, every year, every increment of time and space which is measurable, but at the moment, the end is not in sight.

There’s a world map on Michael’s bedroom wall and, when he puts the notebook away, he looks up at it from his bed. Every time the location of a major meet is decided upon by whichever monolithic body governs it, Michael takes one of his Mom’s gold stars from her marking book and sticks it on the location, plotting himself a geographical chain which he’ll follow for years to come. In the light of the lamp, stars wink at him from Sydney, Fukuoka and Athens. He knows that many others will join them and finds himself wondering whether he’ll manage to fly more miles than he swims.

A sharp knock at his bedroom door startles him out of his reverie. “Michael,” his Mom’s voice is muffled by the wood, “let’s hustle, you’ll be late for practice and I’ve got a busy day.”

“I’m coming,” Michael groans, swinging his legs out of bed and grabbing his clothes.

*

The roads are always quiet on the way to morning practices but it’s especially quiet this Thursday – it’s Thanksgiving. Like the other kids in his class, Michael gets a day off school and a big turkey dinner. Unlike the other kids, he doesn’t get to stay in bed until late. He watches the wipers sweep back and forth across the windshield, and wonders how many more Thanksgivings will be spent in the pool rather than on the couch.

“Michael,” his Mom says when she pulls into the parking lot and stops the car, “nobody is making you do this. If you want to quit, you can.”

He nods in recognition at her words. “But I don’t think you want to quit,” she continues. “I think you want this more than anything else. So that’s why I’m here, driving you to practice every day. That’s why Bob’s here, giving you sets and marking down your times.”

“I know,” he replies quietly, willing the monologue to end.

“Do you remember what Bob said? How he thinks that you can be better than anyone else?” she asks. “Do you know what that means?”

“If I’m better,” Michael answers, finally turning his head to look at his Mom, “how come I’m here on Thanksgiving again when nobody else is?”

“Because that’s how you do it,” his Mom reminds him. “You still have to work harder than anyone else. And I know that it doesn’t seem like it right now, but one day you’ll retire and have a family of your own and you’ll look back on this as such a short period of your life. You’re fourteen, Michael. People your age are going to live to a hundred and maybe beyond. Just bear that in mind. This isn’t forever, the hard work. But your achievements will be.”

Michael sighs, not really taking in what his mother tells him. He grabs his bag from the backseat and makes to get out of the car.

“I love you, my boy,” his Mom tells him. “And remember, it’s one of your sisters picking you up later, I’ll be doing dinner.”

Michael nods, pulls his hood up and heads through the rain to the pool.

*

When he arrives home later that day, tired and wanting nothing more than a video game controller in one hand and a fork in the other, Michael’s sister quickly steers him upstairs, rather than allowing him to make a beeline for his favoured spot on the couch.

As he heads towards his room, Michael scowls at Whitney over his shoulder. “We have guests, Michael,” she hisses in response. “Go and make yourself presentable, try and join in the conversation at dinner, help me tidy up afterwards and then you can think about playing games and zoning out.”

“I’ve just got in from practice, Whit,” he groans.

“I know,” she shoots back. “And Mom drove you there and then to the airport to pick us up and since she got home she’s not left the kitchen. There’s a ton of people here so you can pull your weight.”

Michael grumbles his way through showering and getting changed, making enough effort – which, for a teenage boy, is finding something that doesn’t smell like it should be in the laundry basket and looks vaguely like it’s seen an iron recently – to satisfy his mother before slouching downstairs.

He tries to subtly make his way into the den in order to dodge chores and avoid pre-dinner small talk with family members, but fails when, in his typically clumsy way, he trips over his own feet and falls straight into someone coming unexpectedly out of the living room.

The person he’s bumped into catches him and sets him back on his feet, apologising in a warm drawl. “Shit, sorry dude,” the person says, before clapping a hand over their mouth.

Michael rolls his eyes and starts to reply that he’s not a little kid, he does know a litany of swear words and nobody has to watch their mouth around him, but when he looks up into sparkling blue eyes and a wry smile, and then realises the strength of the arms which caught him and haven’t yet let go, Michael’s done for. He can’t find the sassy words he wants – or any others, for that matter – and instead just stares at the guy in front of him.

“Hey man,” the guy says, letting go of Michael’s arms and sticking out his hand. “I’m Ryan. You must be Michael.”

Michael nods dumbly, giving Ryan his hand and allowing his arm to be pumped in a firm shake. Just as Michael’s wondering how long he can get away with clinging onto Ryan’s warm hand for, his other sister appears with a smile and an eye roll, snaking an arm around Ryan’s waist.

“He’s a shy dork but we love him,” she tilts her head at Michael. “Ryan, this is my brother Michael; Michael, this is my boyfriend.”

Michael nods and Ryan smiles, letting Michael’s hand go and leaning in to Hilary as she kisses his cheek. “Yeah, we’ve met,” Ryan grins.

“Well done, Michael, you’ve missed out on all of the pre-dinner chores,” Hilary tells him. 

“Which means you’re on for the washing up afterwards,” Whitney finishes, appearing from behind Michael. “Dinner’s ready, let’s not keep everyone waiting.”

Michael quickly positions himself opposite Ryan at the table – but has the misfortune of being sat between his mother and an outspoken uncle – in order to maintain a good view of his sister’s boyfriend. Despite being ravenous following practice that morning, Michael pushes his food around his plate, barely touching the meal in favour of staring at Ryan and hanging on his every word.

There’s a constant buzz of conversation around the table which Michael tunes into whenever Ryan’s name is mentioned – his mother has to nudge him on several occasions when various other guests ask questions about Michael himself – in order to glean more information about the newcomer. 

He learns that Ryan, of course, is studying with Hilary at the University of Florida. Hilary stopped swimming competitively several years previously, but Ryan’s at UF on a swimming scholarship and is very much aiming for Sydney. Michael’s brain goes into overdrive at this point, and he knows that this particular piece of information will help him to get out of bed – and, possibly, to sleep at night – throughout the coming months of early practices during the run up to the Olympic trials. His mind is already constructing elaborate fantasies of sharing a room with Ryan in the Village, or competing on the same relay team and collecting medals together and he absolutely doesn’t care that he’s just fourteen and Ryan is twenty-one because they’ll be Olympians, dammit, and that surely makes Michael perfectly grown up?

His attention is rudely diverted by his uncle elbowing him and asking, “So Michael, have you got a girlfriend these days?”

From across the table, Whitney bursts out laughing – and receives a glare from their mother for her trouble – and Hilary smiles a little patronisingly, squeezing Ryan’s hand. “He’s only fourteen,” Hilary reminds their uncle. “Plenty of time for all of that when he’s older.”

Michael rolls his eyes at his sisters and tries to regain some ground, wanting certain members of the party to forget about his age. “I’m not looking for a girlfriend,” he replies.

“Ah, keeping your options open, eh?” his uncle winks. “Say no more! Why have just one when you can sample from an array?”

At this point, their aunt gives him a sharp smack from the other side and chastises him for encouraging bad behaviour. Their uncle just shrugs, “We were all teenagers once! I bet you were quite the charmer before my niece got her hooks into you, huh Ryan?”

Ryan looks a little embarrassed at being drawn into the conflict and holds his hands up. “Not when I was Michael’s age,” he laughs, tipping Michael a wink which sends most of Michael’s blood supply straight to his groin. “I was way more interested in basketball and my skateboard back then.”

Hilary rolls her eyes. “Still are sometimes,” she mutters.

“Aww, don’t be like that, babe,” Ryan pleads, throwing an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him. “You totally take a good chunk of my attention.”

At this point, Debbie seems to decide that her guests have had their fill and chivvies Michael into the kitchen to tackle the mountain of dishes. He sets to the task reluctantly, but takes the opportunity to pick up his daydreams about Ryan and the Olympics, choosing to disregard the small matter of their age gap and the fact that the guy is dating Michael’s sister.

As he’s stacking the last of the plates into the dishwasher, footsteps enter the kitchen and Ryan’s voice accompanying them almost causes Michael to break some of the crockery.

“Sorry man, but we missed one,” Ryan says. Michael turns and accepts the serving dish Ryan hands him with a nod, plunging it into the sink. Ryan watches before speaking up again. “Your sister tells me you’re pretty into Mario Kart.”

Michael nods again, placing the dish on the draining board and drying his hands, taking a deep breath before turning to look at Ryan. “You fancy having your ass handed to you?” he asks, feeling himself blush a little.

Ryan laughs. “That’s some big trash talk, bro,” he smiles. “Let’s see if you can live up to it.”

“I’ll beat you,” Michael assures him. “Then it gives us something to do when we’re on taper at the Olympics – I can teach you the tricks.”

“I’m in college,” Ryan reminds him. “I know all of the tricks.”

“Bet you don’t,” Michael goads, leading the way through to the den.

“Game on,” Ryan grins back. “I hope you’re not as sore of a loser as I’ve heard.”

*

From that point on, Ryan is Michael’s inspiration. The following day, he swims with renewed vigour at practice, and almost gets compliments out of his famously tough coach. Two weeks after Thanksgiving, his Mom gets the pictures back from the films she used in their camera during dinner and Michael surreptitiously removes the best one of Ryan, keeping it in the drawer next to his bed with his notebook. As well as his morning ritual of chalking up his practices, Michael now has an evening routine with the photo in his left hand as he jerks off. Michael has never participated in conversations the boys in his class have about girls, and his obsession with Ryan has only served to consolidate his private knowledge that he never will like girls. Along with his goals for times, records, championships and medals, Michael also has a goal for a relationship. As with all of the others, he knows it’s just a matter of time.

*

Michael adopts a steely focus at meets. His determination to reach the Olympics burns fiercely, partly as a way to prove himself to be better than the kids at school who taunt him for the ears that he hasn’t yet grown into, but mainly so that he can get Ryan’s attention and align himself as an adult. He also knows that, if he allows his attention to be diverted from his swimming to Ryan’s nearly-naked tanned and rippling form – which, amazingly, is even better than Michael had imagined it to be – there’s a high chance that not only will he fail to make the cut, but that he will also drown in the process.

Michael and Ryan both qualify for the Olympics at trials, earning both of them kisses from Phelps women – Michael’s from Debbie, Ryan’s from Hilary, who he’s still dating. With his coach keen for him not to burn out prior to reaching his full potential, Michael only swims one event, but it’s enough to secure his place. Ryan swims a more extensive programme, qualifying for four events and putting himself in contention for one of the relay teams.

The wait between trials and the Games themselves are torture for Michael – like a hundred Christmas eves in a row, interspersed with hours of training and a surprising amount of media coverage. The news crews descend as if he’s already a big deal, making a fuss of the youngest male to qualify for the US Olympic swim team for decades. His family try to shield him from it, but Michael welcomes the attention without thinking about the implications amongst his friends or the rest of the team.

Michael isn’t nervous about the Olympics, he finds the whole experience to be novel, an awe-inspiring event which feels partly like a childhood holiday and mostly like a dream that he has worked hard to achieve. He’s closely chaperoned in Sydney by his Mom and his coach, who has been drafted specifically into the US Olympic setup due to Michael’s presence.

Michael’s main disappointment of the Games isn’t that he doesn’t medal – he makes the final of his event and comes fifth – but that he doesn’t gain the kudos he’d been craving. Throughout the event, nobody comes close to treating him like an adult. He spends every waking hour with his coach and, to make matters worse, he and Ryan don’t share a room. In fact, the most he sees of Ryan is when he joins his family in the stands to watch the older man’s last race, his final quest for gold. 

Earlier in the meet, Ryan had bombed his first two individual races in the finals, but clawed it back in his third to win silver, as well as earning his place on the relay team, where he’d helped the US to an emphatic gold. Hilary spends the entire session beside herself, repeating over and over that she hopes he does at least as well as in his other individual race, because the individual events, “Just mean more, they’re a validation, proof.” 

Michael tunes his sister out, focusing on the pool and Ryan’s every move as he strides out onto the deck. He isn’t aware of how he behaves during the race, but his throat burns that night, so he knows he must have been screaming. Michael doesn’t feel bad about that – he’s pretty sure the screams of his Mom and his sisters around him perforate his eardrums, and his knuckles are white from gripping their hands.

Ryan wins gold and Hilary sobs with relief as he climbs out of the pool, waving to the crowd. She cries again during the medal ceremony, as the American contingent in the arena sing along to the anthem and the flag is raised. Ryan and the other medallists parade around the deck bearing flags, grinning and holding up their medals. Hilary’s boyfriend pauses for a few minutes where his own family are, handing his flowers to his Mom and accepting the affection his relatives readily offer. Then it’s Hilary’s turn: Ryan stretches up to kiss her and it’s all Michael can do not to push her out of the way and smother Ryan for himself.

When they finally pull apart – Ryan grinning, Hilary crying again – Ryan spots Michael and raises his palm for a high five. As he pulls Michael in for a friendly hug, Michael closes his eyes and tries to lock everything about the moment into his memory.

“You’ll have a ton of these, bud, don’t worry,” Ryan says into Michael’s ear as they embrace.

Michael’s heart goes crazy at the words Ryan uses, choosing to believe that Ryan isn’t referring to medals.

*

Michael returns to the team’s suite at the Village on his final afternoon in Sydney and finds a group of his teammates in the living room laughing and apparently comparing body parts. Ryan is amongst them, smiling broadly and looking pleased with himself.

“What’s going on?” Michael asks, approaching the group.

“Comparing ink,” one of the guys replies, turning to indicate his shoulder, where the Olympic rings are surrounded by a red patch of skin, dressing temporarily peeled back.

The others duly offer up their bodies for inspection too, Ryan holding up his right arm to reveal the freshly-tattooed inside of his bicep. Michael reflexively reaches out to touch the older man’s skin, but Ryan yanks his arm away quickly and hurriedly reapplies the dressing.

“No, dude,” he mutters. “Don’t want it getting infected.”

Michael frowns. “You should’ve said you were going, I already know where I want mine.”

His teammates instantly burst out laughing. “You’re fifteen, kiddo,” one of them reminds him. “Your Mom doesn’t seem the type to sign off on this sort of thing.”

“It’s not her decision,” Michael pouts, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s my body.”

“You’re a minor,” Ryan points out. “It kinda isn’t yours just yet.”

“But I know what I want,” Michael protests.

Ryan just shrugs. “It’s the law.”

“I want to get it done!” Michael whines. “Tell me where to go.”

“Even if we did,” another teammate chips in, “they won’t do it without an ID or a signature from an adult.” Ryan shoots the guy a glare, fully aware of what’ll come next.

“Well you’re all legal,” Michael states. He rounds on Ryan. “Please, Ry. You’re practically my brother.”

“No way,” Ryan shakes his head firmly. “I do not need the kind of shit that’d get me in with your sister and your Mom.”

Michael pouts and the rest of the group laugh louder. “Go on, Doggy,” one of them teases, giving Ryan a shove. “Make your lil’ bro happy.”

“Yeah dude,” encourages another. “You really scared of two women?”

“Yes,” Ryan mutters, turning on his heel and starting down the hall. “He’s not worth it.”

Michael flushes with embarrassment as Ryan disappears, willing himself not to cry in front of his guffawing teammates.

*

When he returns from Sydney, Michael’s life changes very little. He carries on training with the same coach at the same pool, and he goes back to school. Michael is disappointed that he hasn’t earned additional respect from his peers at school, and that the media are no longer interested in him or swimming.

He debriefs with his coach and they have a frank conversation about where he’d like to be at the end of the next Olympic cycle. Goals are written down on sacred sheets of paper and it is agreed that nobody else will know them. An agent is hired and more plans are formed. The very beginnings of professional agreements are drawn up, and Michael only agrees to return to school because his mother point blank refuses to let him drop out. So Michael waits it out.

Ryan, however, is an adult, and is able to take full advantage of his newfound minor celebrity status. It begins with a homecoming at UF and continues with trips to parties which Michael hears snatches about on the grapevine through the swimming community.

There’s a particularly difficult time when Hilary returns from Florida for Thanksgiving a year after first being accompanied by Ryan, but this time she’s alone. There are muffled sobs from her bedroom, door firmly closed and Whitney playing the role of confidant and guard dog. Hilary is coaxed out for dinner but barely speaks throughout the meal.

The following day, Michael trips over a guy delivering a massive bunch of flowers at the ass crack of dawn when he leaves for practice, and when he returns home a few hours later, there’s no sign of Hilary or the bouquet. His Mom soon informs him rather stonily that Hilary was won over by Ryan’s gift and had bullied her way on a flight back to Florida in order to reconcile with her beau. Michael spends the rest of the day playing Mario Kart, but only has the computer to beat.

*

In order to compensate for missing Thanksgiving, Ryan shows up at Christmas with Hilary, and Michael relishes this unexpected gift. 

On Christmas morning itself, Ryan draws the extremely short straw of running Michael to practice. To Michael’s dismay – as he still hasn’t developed a strong coping strategy for seeing Ryan in briefs – Ryan decides that, as he has to pick Michael up and he’s now awake anyway, he may as well stick around and swim himself.

Michael lends Ryan a pair of briefs – another fact which knocks him a little dizzy – and they change together side by side. Michael makes a deliberate show of adjusting his kit and, eventually, Ryan glances over. The Floridian’s jaw drops and Michael’s heart skips a beat, but he doesn’t get quite the reaction he’s hoping for.

“Is that what I think it is?” Ryan asks in shock.

Michael glances down, not seeing anything unusual about his body and shrugs. “Um. What’re you talking about?”

Ryan reaches over and tugs the side of Michael’s briefs down slightly, causing the young swimmer to stop breathing.

“Fuck,” Ryan gasps. “When the hell did that happen?”

He lets go of the suit and Michael finally clues into what Ryan’s talking about, but can’t make his brain and tongue co-operate to answer.

“Mike,” Ryan snaps, waving a hand in front of his face. “The tattoo. When and how?”

Michael pulls his suit down on his hips again to brush his own hand over the skin on his hipbone. He smiles at the memory, how daring he’d felt and how precious the secret had been. And how he had dreamed of this moment, of Ryan being the first one to find out. Though admittedly, the older man hadn’t been angry in Michael’s fantasies – there had been more nudity and touching and less questioning.

“When I got home,” Michael shrugs, trying to appear casual, like fifteen-year olds getting tattoos was an everyday thing. “Just found a place downtown and they did it.”

Ryan leans closer, looking at it again before glancing at his own tattoo. “Dude,” he raises an eyebrow. “You do know it’s wrong?”

“What?” Michael splutters, horrified. “No way, I checked a picture!” He looks from Ryan’s arm to his own hip, trying to figure out from his upside down perspective what the problem is.

“Look,” Ryan points at his arm. “The gold and the black, the way they overlap. Yours is wrong.”

Michael shakes his head determinedly. “No, mine can’t be wrong.”

Ryan bites his lip. “I’m sorry, but it is. The guys and I went together, the shop checked really carefully and they’d had loads of athletes in getting them...” he trails off. “It kinda doesn’t surprise me that a place that’ll ink an unsupervised kid wouldn’t know the right sequence.”

Michael blushes furiously, slamming his locker shut and readjusting his suit. “Hey, don’t be like that,” Ryan says, tone softening. “Maybe you can get it fixed? One day. When you’re legal.”

Michael fumes silently at the amount of times in the course of the conversation that Ryan has referred to his age. Here they are, Ryan perilously close to admiring Michael’s crotch, and it’s not going anywhere near how Michael wants it to.

“Mike, if you’re worried I’m gonna tell Debs...” Ryan starts.

“Say what you like,” Michael grabs his goggles and cap, starting to head out to the deck. “I don’t give a shit.”

*

Although he still doesn’t get treated like one, Michael feels more like an adult when he attends meets. His coach is always with him, but his family aren’t: his relationship with his Dad is almost non-existent; Whitney is away at college; Hilary is living and working in Florida and their Mom has a busy full-time job.

But everything changes when Michael breaks his first world record. He has to call his Mom and tell her. She sobs down the phone and vows never to miss another race for the rest of his career. Michael barely registers what she says – his mind is still on his encounter shortly after the race in the warm down pool with Ryan.

“Nice job,” Ryan told him, offering another high five and backslap combination gesture.

“Thanks bro,” Michael mumbled into his shoulder.

Ryan laughed, a rumbling movement which transferred through to Michael’s body. “No, dude, not yet. Way too young to be shackling myself to your sister,” he chuckled, pulling away and giving Michael a wink. “Or anyone else.”

As usual, Michael spends more time that night analysing the exchange with Ryan than the hurdle he’d just cleared in his swimming career. He still hasn’t spoken to anyone about his feelings for guys in general and Ryan specifically. He knows that everyone would laugh at him – or just be horrified – for having feelings for someone who wasn’t only a lot older than him, but also in an apparently-steady relationship with his sister.

Michael isn’t stupid: he’s aware that all teenagers feel some level of sexual frustration, and that most aren’t ready to do anything beyond taking care of themselves in the privacy of their own home. But he feels different. His life involves mixing with people who are a lot older than himself, and adding to that the fact that he doesn’t have many friends at school, the fact that he looks different and behaves differently, Michael knows that he can’t discuss his situation with anyone. He worries that someone other than Ryan will notice and call him out on it, or scare Ryan off and prevent Michael from seeing him. So Michael puts his head down, cuts himself off further and just keeps swimming.

*

Three years later, Michael still hasn’t had a day off. Ryan still isn’t his brother, though is still dating Hilary – just about. Hilary is spending more time in Baltimore than Florida, and seems keen to move back up north. Michael doesn’t know what Ryan wants, but it doesn’t seem to be swimming – he’s noticed that the Floridian is entering as few meets as possible and that, the ones he does attend, he doesn’t swim as well as he did in the run up to Sydney.

As Michael’s swimming dreams of medals, podiums, sponsorship and cheques get closer and closer, his dream of a second bite at the Ryan Lochte Olympic Village cherry seems to be getting further away. Michael’s last hope is that Ryan will find enough to reach the wall first or second at trials and qualify for the Games. Given that they don’t train together, there’s not a lot else that Michael can do.

*

Michael stares at the board in disbelief. He blinks, refocuses his gaze and reads again, but nothing has changed. In his last race at the Olympic trials, Ryan has put in his best performance of the meet. But it’s not enough. 

Michael watches from the deck in shock as Ryan hauls himself out of the pool and disappears towards the locker room. Without thinking about it, Michael follows the older man, heart hammering in his chest. When he finds Ryan, sat next to his open locker, staring into space, Michael doesn’t even know what to say.

Ryan shakes his head. “Have fun in Greece,” he says quietly.

“I won’t,” Michael blurts out. “Not without you there.”

Ryan looks up at him with a laugh. “What, because we’re best friends or something? You’re still a kid. And we don’t have to hang out anymore.”

“I’m almost nineteen,” Michael fumes, balling his fists. “And what do you mean about not hanging out?”

Ryan blinks, staring at him. “Wow, I’d heard you were living in a bubble these days but I didn’t realise it was that bad.” He hauls himself up and grabs some things out of his locker. 

Michael crowds in next to him, entering Ryan’s space, refusing to allow him to disappear that easily. “What do you mean?” he repeats. 

Ryan looks at him coolly. “I’m not with your sister anymore, we called it quits earlier this week,” he states, closing the locker and heading for the showers, leaving Michael stunned into silence.

*

The media are interested in Michael prior to the Games in Athens, just like they were before Sydney. It’s still partly because he’s young – though Michael and most other people will try to remind them that young swimmers being successful isn’t unusual – but also because there’s a certain amount of noise that Michael, hot on the heels of another young star, is the second coming of swimming.

And Michael knows that he’s already achieved some impressive things, but to him they don’t mean a lot. Being the youngest person to achieve several feats isn’t what he’s aiming for – Michael wants total dominance, in a way that means his name will be in the record books possibly longer than he continues to live and breathe. And he knows he hasn’t gotten to that point yet, that he still has a lot to do. So he keeps marking down practices in his notebook, keeps putting in the yards, and swims his way to another Olympics.

From the very beginning, it’s a completely different experience to Sydney. Michael’s qualified for eight events, including relays and he walks away from his first final with a gold medal and a new world record. When he reaches through the fence after the presentation to greet his mother and sisters, he can’t help but imagine Ryan in the crowd with them, that if he and Hilary hadn’t split up he’d be there, or that if he’d swum better he’d be waiting back at the village to at least congratulate him.

Michael’s phone goes nuts that night, but he has to go to bed early as he’s racing the next day. He skims his messages regardless, curious to see who has been in touch. There is, of course, nothing from the person he wants to hear from the most.

*

It isn’t a clean sweep of golds for Michael in Athens, but it’s close. He still breaks records and his performance confirms that he and his coach aren’t on a hiding to nothing, that with more work, he can achieve the results they’re really aiming for.

Michael stares at the boxes of medals and stack of laurel wreaths on his bed as he prepares to leave the Village for something other than competition for the first time. He thinks back to how his fourteen year old self couldn’t comprehend the years ahead of him and what it would take to achieve the things he wanted. He mentally flicks through his goal list, ticking off those he’s met and scanning the ones he still wants to be able to check off. 

The words of interviewers seep into his thoughts, snippets of the greatness he has already achieved, names that he has erased from the record books and replaced with his own. He thinks about how those lists already look, and how they will look when his goal sheet is exhausted. Michael will stand alone, the greatest.

And then it hits Michael that he’s already alone. Part of him has known for a long time – there are things which Michael can’t control which cause him to be isolated, and things he does deliberately to set himself apart. And all of them combine to mean that, at nineteen, he’s very much alone in a bubble. No other athlete has eight medals to stare at. There’s nobody who can tell Michael that they know how this feels or what it means, nobody to guide him through it.

Michael realises he’s made a mistake in failing to make friends. During his years on the national team since Sydney, he hadn’t made an effort to engage with his teammates beyond what was absolutely necessary, partly due to the fact that, through Ryan, he’d had a natural link to the others. Ryan was well-known for being everyone’s friend within five minutes of meeting them – naturally gregarious and kind-hearted, as well as fun-loving. 

Michael had engaged in conversations and games when Ryan was around, mainly through his desire to ultimately seduce the older man and not in the pursuit of developing friendships with other teammates. Without the buffer of Ryan, Michael has no idea of how to infiltrate the rest of the group.

A sharp knock at the door breaks his thoughts, followed by a cry of, “Yo, Phelps!”

Michael recognises the voice of one of his teammates from the relays and calls back, “What?”

“You coming to the party?” his question is met with another.

Michael gets up and opens the door a little, shrugging at the other guy. “Um. I don’t know.”

“C’mon, Fishboy,” the guy implores. “We can’t party without the champ. Gotta make the most of these opportunities, it’s not like you’re out all the time.”

“I have an early...” Michael starts.

The guy cuts in with a mocking pout, “Mommy got you on a curfew?”

Michael’s eyes narrow at the taunt, even though part of him knows he shouldn’t rise to it. The guy grins, knowing he’s hit the jackpot. “Bring a couple of medals. Meet us outside in five.”

*

Michael is as inexperienced at partying as he is at anything else that doesn’t involve swimming, but even he can tell that the party is epic. With a flash of his medals and a murmur of his name – which people seem to know whatever their mother tongue is – he doesn’t have to touch his wallet all night.

Michael’s glass is never empty and he frequently finds himself with one in each hand, until the teammate who dragged him out chastises him, leaning in to shout in his ear, “Keep one free, kiddo. The girls will come over but you need something to hold onto them with!”

Michael’s still sober enough to bite back the response he wants to give, that it’s not girls he’s looking for. But his pause seems to speak for him and the guy nods with a knowing smile.

“I thought so,” he smirks, taking a drink away from Michael. “Keep one hand free anyway. You never know who you might meet.”

*

Michael’s alarm goes off at six the following morning, a harsh reminder that the Olympics are over for another four years, that the hard work is about to re-commence and that he has a plane to catch. He silences it as quickly and quietly as possible, plotting his escape as he figures out where his clothes are.

He hasn’t had a lot of sleep and he isn’t entirely sure where he is, but his priority is getting outside without the guy next to him waking up, and that he’ll figure out the rest once he’s alone. It’s light outside and he has money, he knows he can’t be too far from where he needs to be, but that he needs to work quickly.

Once he’s dressed and hopefully gathered his belongings, Michael creeps out of the room and into the morning light, wincing as he goes. It’s warm already – though Michael’s sure the amount he drank the previous night is exacerbating that – and, typically, it’s a quiet area with no taxis in sight. He pulls out his phone with the intention of calling someone for help and finds his progress blocked by an astounding amount of messages.

Michael starts walking instead, reading as he goes. As he works his way through his inbox, his phone buzzes in his hand. Michael scrolls up to the newest message and has to check it several times before he believes what he’s reading isn’t a figment of his hangover-addled imagination.

_[Ryan: told u so]_

Michael stops in the middle of the street and fumbles out a reply.

_[Michael: wat?]_

He groans at his ineloquence, and stares at the phone, willing a reply to appear. He doesn’t have to wait long.

_[Ryan: the medals, dumbass. musta bin a gud nite ;)]_

Michael gives up on texting and impulsively hits the button to dial Ryan’s number. He holds his breath as he wills Ryan to pick up and starts walking again.

“Surprised you’re up, actually,” Ryan answers without a hello.

“Same to you,” Michael rasps, cursing as he speaks, having not realised how wrecked he sounds.

Ryan laughs in response. “Wow. Making the most of it then?”

“Something like that,” Michael mutters.

“You slept?”

“A little. Not sure how much, bit of a blur,” Michael answers truthfully.

“What’s his name?”

Michael stops walking again and blinks. “Golden boy, you still there?” Ryan’s voice asks.

Michael nods before answering. “Yeah,” he croaks. “Just trying to remember.”

Ryan laughs again. “Nice one, dude. You call me mid-walk of shame. Classy.”

“How’d you...” Michael starts, before his brain catches up with Ryan’s previous questions and he comes up with one of his own. “Hang on. Did you say ‘his’?”

“Am I wrong?” Ryan challenges.

Michael waits a moment before confirming, “No.”

There’s a pause in the conversation and Michael desperately wants to hang up, but Ryan’s voice is providing some kind of eerie comfort, a link to home and security and good feelings he wishes he’d had the night before.

“They all know, Mike,” Ryan tells him softly. “Your Mom, your sisters, probably your coach. They’re okay with it, you know.”

“Is that how you know?” Michael asks, mortified that these conversations go on behind his back.

“No, dude, I know because I’ve got eyes,” Ryan clarifies. “I know everyone thinks I’m...”

“I don’t think you’re stupid,” Michael cuts in.

“And that,” Ryan sighs.

Much as he wants it to, Michael’s brain can’t keep up with the conversation any more. “I’ve gotta go,” he says involuntarily.

“Sure,” Ryan agrees. “Get some sleep. And drink some water. And maybe see a doctor when you get home.”

Michael cringes, knowing exactly what Ryan’s hinting at and nods again. “Do one more thing for me?” Ryan asks.

“Anything,” Michael blurts out quickly.

“Don’t throw it away like I did,” he implores. “Enjoy yourself. But be smart. You can have it all, but you still have to work for it.”

“Okay,” Michael nods, fishing around in his pockets for his ID as he realises that, by some miracle, he’s made it to the Village.

“Take care, man,” Ryan tells him before hanging up. 

*

When he gets back to Maryland, Michael takes one piece of Ryan’s advice and ignores the rest, which leaves him with a clean STD test and a DUI. On the day that judgment is passed, Michael sits cross-legged on his bed in his childhood bedroom surrounded by an eerie silence. The DUI itself doesn’t freak him out, though he knows that his agent and sponsors are pretty upset. The way Michael sees it, he can’t do anything about it: it’s done, he can’t take it back, he has to accept his punishment and live with whatever consequences there are. What’s freaking him out more – and that he hasn’t told anyone – is his move away from the home he has always known.

Michael had been contemplating moving out of his Mom’s house after his second Olympics. He’d even gotten as far as drawing up a pros and cons list in the back of the notebook which contains his practice tally and his goal sheets: amongst the pros were freedom, the possibility of getting a dog and properly marking himself out as an adult; the list of cons was more related to domestic matters, such as laundry and cooking.

He’d looked at both lists for a long time, and decided that he could probably get away with asking his Mom to still do at least some of his laundry, and that she’d miss him enough to have him over for dinner regularly. Decision made, Michael had started driving home from the pool via a variety of routes, casually checking out different neighbourhoods in Baltimore and fantasising about throwing parties and how big his bed would be and that he’d definitely have a hot tub. Until his coach had dropped his own bombshell: he’d accepted a new position. In Michigan.

Michael then had another decision to make and, given that his notebook informed him that in terms of timing, they weren’t even half way through the schedule they’d set out years previously, he too would be moving to Michigan. Although the decision is made and Michael’s organised a place to live and packed his stuff and is still entertaining the idea of getting a dog, he feels like moving to Michigan is a whole different prospect to moving into his own place in Baltimore.

Michael can count the amount of times he’s eaten dinner without his Mom without taking his socks off. He’s been given practical lessons – and an instruction sheet – on how to do laundry. And he knows that it’s lame for a guy to admit to the fact that he’ll miss his Mom, and that it’s a cliché that a good proportion of his feelings are rooted in the fact that his parents divorced when he was a child, but it’s eating at him anyway.

As if on cue, his Mom bustles into his room. She’s wearing a businesslike expression and Michael takes a deep breath, waiting for the inevitable pep talk. He’s not sure if this’ll be easier or harder than the disappointment talk they’d had when he got busted, so he steels himself.

Debbie sits down on the end of Michael’s bed and he notices she’s holding a box of tissues. Harder it is, then.

“I wish you’d talk to me, Michael,” she begins. “I hope that the distance will mean that you’ll start. I think that you assume I know things because you live here – and I do know a lot, you are my son after all. But sometimes I do need some help to understand how you’re feeling. And if you give me that, then I can help you in return. Do you understand?”

Michael nods slowly, even though he doesn’t like what he hears. He’s pretty sure that his Mom would be somewhere between horrified and hurt if he told her how he really feels about certain things – or rather, people – and he wishes she’d appreciate that he’s doing her a favour by keeping his mouth shut.

Debbie carries on speaking, even though Michael is mentally willing her to stop and leave him alone. “We’ve had this conversation before Michael, but you seem to have forgotten. So I’ll rephrase,” she tells him. “I am so very proud of you. Before Athens, before the world records, I was proud of you. I love you with all my heart, and if you don’t want to do this anymore, that won’t stop. I will support and defend you until the day I die, you don’t have to get in the pool ever again for me to do that.”

“Stop, Mom,” Michael mumbles. “I know the rest of the speech.”

Debbie nods, pulling a tissue out of the box and dabbing at her eyes. She gathers herself again and continues. “You know it, Michael, but you don’t seem to know what it means,” she says. “I want you to do this for no other reason or person than yourself. I want you to achieve your dreams, I want you to be happy. That’s okay if that no longer involves swimming.”

Michael groans and stands up, pacing the room. “This has nothing to do with swimming.”

Debbie nods again. “I thought so,” she agrees. She stands up and takes his hands, holding him still and catching his eye. “This will be hard for both of us, you moving away. I worry about you. Please be safe. You will always have a home here, but I think that this is something you need to do.”

Michael nods and lets his Mom squeeze his hands. She exhales and lets go of him. “What time’s your flight?”

“Midday tomorrow,” he answers.

She smiles sadly. “Okay. We’ll have a good breakfast and then I’ll take you to the airport,” she tells him, no room for negotiation. “But before that, I need you to come down and help me with dinner.”

She leaves him alone again and Michael slumps back onto his bed, gathering his thoughts. His mind returns to the years he’s so far spent working, how he’d been desperate to grow up and have other people consider him to be part of the adult world. Michael wonders why nobody warned him how hard it would actually be, and how other people make it look so easy.

*

Michael once told a journalist that his life consists of three things: eating, sleeping and swimming. As he stirs from his afternoon nap a year into his move to Michigan, Michael’s tempted to call the guy and add another activity – fucking.

It all started after he’d been in Michigan for a month. Michael wasn’t able – and, more importantly, didn’t want – to pursue a degree at the University, but had been talked into taking a couple of classes anyway. He assumed to ensure that he didn’t become a complete hermit and actually stood a chance of making some friends.

So there, he was, minding his own business when, in a moment which probably belonged in the script of some godawful romantic comedy, a note dropped onto his desk during class. Michael didn’t turn around to look at the person who’d sent it, as he was pretty sure it would be abusive. He ignored it for a good two minutes before the legs of his chair took a strong kick.

Michael rolled his eyes and made a show of opening the note for the benefit of the sender.

_You need to get laid. Your place, after class._

Michael hadn’t wanted to dignify it with a response, but he was equally keen to shut this down quickly – he didn’t need any distractions from practice, as he was focused on taking Ryan’s advice and sticking to his goals. Which was a bad move, because that just brought the image of his sister’s ex boyfriend into his head and that wasn’t what he needed having not heard from the guy for six months.

So Michael impulsively scribbled out a reply:

_Can’t, got practice. And not into chicks._

He folded the note and turned to drop it on the person’s desk but didn’t get that far. Michael’s jaw dropped when he found a guy – who he had to admit was attractive – smirking at him. Michael blushed and hurriedly turned back around, keeping hold of the note, heart hammering in his chest.

And no, it wasn’t Ryan. But Ryan was the ultimate goal for Michael. Michael knew he was good with goals and had faith that this one would be ticked off eventually. Michael also knew that the chances of achieving your goals were greatly increased if you practiced. He scribbled a new note on a fresh piece of paper and passed it back to the guy without turning around.

_Done. Mine’s the black Escalade._

And that was just the beginning. It’s now been nearly eighteen months since Michael last heard from Ryan, which has given him a lot of opportunity for practice. In a way, Michael’s actually glad, because he doesn’t feel ready yet. He worries that, if Ryan miraculously showed up and insisted on working their way through Michael’s five plus years of fantasies, he’d let himself down.

So Michael eats, sleeps, swims and fucks. He even enjoys himself occasionally. This particular afternoon hadn’t fallen into that category, but Michael knows that not all practices are stellar. It’s the kind of day where he’ll toss the guy his clothes as he gets ready to leave his apartment for practice and offer to drop him off on his way to the pool. 

A good pre-swim practice normally results in Michael undertaking a gentle approach with his partner, offering them the opportunity to hang out and wait in bed for him while he swims or, if they have somewhere to be, they sometimes earn themselves the coveted prize of his phone number and the promise that they’ll arrange to see each other again.

There are still dark moments: times when Michael misses home, his family, the dog he still hasn’t bought himself. It’s then that he takes out his well-travelled notebook, including the first photo he kept of Ryan, and reminds himself of how far he’s come. During this reflection, he’ll recap his two goals: to become the greatest swimmer who ever lived, and change the sport forever; to win over Ryan Lochte.

Once he’s reminded himself of what he’s aiming for and why, Michael’s re-inspired for his next practices. And he eats, sleeps, swims and fucks.

*

One of the things that Michael’s decided he likes about being attached to a university is the fact that, periodically, there are new faces. He’s now swum half way from Athens to Beijing and would be lying if he said he weren’t a little tired of it all. But the beginning of the new school year makes things interesting for a couple of weeks, and he heads to the pool to meet the new team, ready to figure out if any of them are worth spending any extra time with.

He’s disappointed at first – Michael’s starting to feel old at only twenty-one himself, but the freshmen really are looking too young for his liking – but then another new face appears and it’s attached to a body which is definitely more mature than some of the others, as well as being very tanned.

The guy introduces himself, holding his hand out for a shake and Michael clasps it. He checks out the guy’s body thoroughly, missing his name in the process, but his attention is quickly diverted from the newbie’s body when he hears him say, “UF”.

“Sorry, what?” Michael asks, looking the guy in the eye for the first time.

“I’m Nick,” he repeats. “I’ve transferred from UF.”

“You swam there?” Michael asks, kicking himself for the stupid question the minute it leaves his mouth.

“Uh, yeah,” Nick replies.

“What made you move?” Michael wants to know, watching Nick carefully.

A slight blush appears on the newbie’s cheeks and he clears his throat before answering with a shrug, “Got made a good offer by UM, seemed like a good idea.”

Michael nods, figuring out how to get an answer to the question he really wants to ask. “Who’s on staff there these days?” he presses. “I’ve heard good things about the team they have.”

Nick nods nervously, fiddling with his goggles. “Uh, yeah, well, Coach Troy still runs the show, but one of the other coaches recently got promoted as his assistant, guy called Ryan.”

Michael feels the familiar sensation of his heartbeat speeding up frantically. “Lochte?” he pushes, trying to keep his voice casual.

“The one and only,” Nick confirms. He starts backing away towards the deck. “It was, um, nice meeting you, but I’d better not be late for my first practice.”

“Sure,” Michael agrees. “I’ll see you in the pool.”

Nick disappears and Michael leans his forehead against his locker, gathering his thoughts. Ryan’s coaching. In Florida. He briefly considers skipping practice and getting on the first flight out of Michigan, but as his excitement cools a little and turns to nerves, Michael realises he could use this information – and anything else Nick knows – to better advantage. He pulls out his cap and goggles and heads to the pool to figure out a plan.

*

It turns out that extracting information from Nick is a greater challenge than Michael anticipated, so it’s a good job that Michael’s not afraid of hard work. Getting the other swimmer drunk fails to make him talkative, but the alcohol has a different effect: Nick literally throws himself at Michael.

Thinking no further than this development allowing him to kill two birds with one stone, Michael goes right ahead and jumps into bed with his teammate. Michael normally has the sense to stay away from guys he has to spend so much time with, but his judgment is impaired both by Nick’s enthusiasm and his own determination to ultimately conquer Ryan.

Somehow, this means that, six months after Nick arrived, he and Michael are still sleeping together. The routine has developed as far as Michael dropping Nick off at class following morning practice, then picking him up again for afternoon practice, after which they head back to Michael’s place together. They’ll fuck, play video games, fuck some more, shower, argue about whether to order in – Michael’s preference – or go out – something that Nick is increasingly pushing for – then eat, fuck again and fall asleep in Michael’s bed.

Despite the nightly sex, Michael’s getting increasingly frustrated. He misses being able to spend a night alone occasionally, and doesn’t enjoy Nick’s incessant pushing that they go out. He sees it as beside the point that he usually wins the fight over how to spend the evening, and is starting to feel conflicted over whether to keep Nick sweet in the hopes of him at some point providing a golden nugget of insight, or going back to his previous ways of fucking whoever he likes.

Suddenly, Michael loses his right to choose. Nick insists that they go to a teammate’s birthday party one night at the guy’s house across town. It starts badly when they approach the door and Nick grabs Michael’s hand. Michael looks down at their entwined fingers and thinks about how alien it looks, how weird it makes him feel. He pulls his hand away, shifting the beers he’s carrying so that Nick can’t take his hand again and quickly leads the way inside.

He hopes that Nick’ll be satisfied with a few beers and then getting out. He also knows that Nick has a paper due and, as his place is between their current location and Michael’s, he may even be able to drop Nick off at home before finding another way to end his evening. As this idea takes root in his mind, Michael surveys the party guests and picks one out to talk to. He’s a little out of practice, but everyone in the room knows who he is, so he doesn’t have to work all that hard to slide back into his previous habits. Just as he’s exchanging numbers with the guy, Nick appears behind him, face stony with anger.

“Who’s this?” he asks.

Michael flashes a quick smile and makes the introductions, pressing the “send” button on his phone in order to give the other guy his number. Nick yanks the phone from Michael’s grasp and holds it away from him, reaching out to take the other guy’s next.

“Dude, what are you doing?” the guy asks, halfway between laughter and indignance.

“Deleting his number,” Nick snarls, flicking through the phone. 

Michael stares in disbelief for a second before the other guy breaks the spell, taking his phone back and muttering, “Don’t worry man, I’ll stay away from your boyfriend.” He slips off into the crowd, leaving Michael and Nick.

“What was that all about?” Michael asks, grabbing his own phone and pocketing it.

“I should be asking you that,” Nick snorts.

Michael raises an eyebrow. “I’m not allowed to talk to anyone else?”

“No, Michael, you’re not. Not when it involves swapping phone numbers so that you can sneak off and hook up with him when I’m sat at home finishing my paper,” Nick spits. “I see you.”

Michael cracks, grabbing Nick’s arm and steering him through the house into the street. “I’ll do what I like,” he tells him firmly. “Not once have we had a conversation about being exclusive.”

“Ah yes, your least favourite topic,” Nick laughs. “Conversations about our relationship: zero. Conversations about Florida? Fucking countless. I should’ve figured this out a long time ago.”

“Figured what out?” Michael tries to play dumb.

“You’re obsessed. I’ve mentioned his name just once, but you’re hanging on my every word in case I do it again,” Nick shouts. “Why don’t you just ask? You’re desperate to know. Or, better still, why not just look him up? There’s this amazing thing called the internet, you know.”

Michael blinks. He did know. But he hadn’t thought of that. Nick rolls his eyes, “Oh wow. I knew there was a reason you weren’t taking classes.”

At that point, Michael’s sorely tempted to hit Nick, but instead he unlocks his car and opens the door. “Get in,” he demands.

Nick shakes his head. “No way,” he replies, backing away. “I’ll find my own way home. You can bring my things to practice tomorrow.”

“But...” Michael begins.

“Oh yeah, that,” Nick nods. He laughs loudly. “You’re gonna be so pissed, this’ll be priceless.”

Michael takes a step towards him but Nick backs away again, shaking his head. “This so wasn’t worth the wait for you, bro. But here goes,” Nick tells him. “Yeah, I know Ryan. But not like either of us want to. But I tried. And I came pretty close. You wanna know the truth? Ryan’s straight. Totally not for turning. That’s a race you’re never gonna win.”

He laughs again, turns on his heel and walks away down the street. Michael stares at Nick’s retreating back, his thoughts only taken from this revelation by the noise of the party increasing as the front door opens again.

The guy he’d been talking to appears and approaches Michael. “It over?” he asks.

Michael nods, unable to find the words to ask how the guy knows or what exactly he’s referring to. Michael’s still holding the passenger door to his car open and the guy hops in. “Then let’s go,” he shrugs, looking pointedly at Michael.

Michael still can’t seem to move so the guy rolls his eyes, leans out of the car and tugs Michael closer, crushing their lips together indicatively. “Yeah?” he prompts.

Michael nods his agreement, closes the car door and gets into the driving seat. As he backs away and heads for his place, the guy offers some reassurance. “Don’t worry,” he tells Michael, “your ex deleted your number and I won’t be asking for it back. One night’s all I’m after.”

*

Four slightly uncomfortable weeks after his row with Nick, Michael flies to the World Championships in Australia. Fortunately, Nick hadn’t made the team – something Michael chalks up as another bone of contention between him and the guy he grudgingly now refers to as his ex – so Michael is able to put the shitstorm behind him temporarily.

On the flight to Melbourne, Michael feels a rush of memories wash over him: how long it’s been since he and Ryan met, that Ryan’s no longer dating his sister – though, if Nick was telling the truth, he may not be interested in Michael at all – and that these days, nobody can deny Michael’s status as an adult. He is also reminded of the Olympics almost seven years previously, and Ryan’s words to him at the time. He’s tried repeatedly to shake Ryan’s assertion that Michael “isn’t worth it”, but hasn’t yet managed.

Above all, Michael holds out hope that Ryan has, by some miracle, been included in the coaching team. He’d been absent from the selection meet and, although Michael had listened in to many inane conversations between the Gators in the locker room, he hadn’t managed to catch any references to Ryan. He resolves to find the courage to ask some questions should he not pick anything up by accident on this trip, and falls asleep thinking about when would be best to visit Florida.

*

To Michael’s disappointment, Ryan isn’t in Melbourne. His boss is, though, and Michael finally finds the way to pump him for information at training one day.

With a casual greeting exchanged, Michael bites the bullet: “So I heard that Ryan’s working with you?” he asks.

Ryan’s boss nods. “Has been for a while,” Gregg confirms. 

“How’s he doing?” Michael pushes, then reminds himself to keep it light. “I mean, I knew him for a while but we lost touch when he and my sister split up.”

Gregg nods. “He’s doing great. Took him a while to get over the disappointment about Athens and figure out what he wanted, but since he did he’s been very focused. He’s a great coach, I’m actually hoping he doesn’t get poached!”

“That’s great,” Michael smiles. “Pass on my regards?”

“Will do,” Gregg agrees, picking up his clipboard and moving closer to the edge of the pool.

Satisfied with the information he’s received and ready to push on with his plans, Michael pulls his goggles down and dives in.

*

The World Championships are positive for Michael: he’s on track to achieve the goals he’s aiming for in Beijing, but they also serve as a reminder that there’s a relative fragility to his achievements too. His solution is to work even harder, and upon his return, that’s what he does.

He sacrifices the thought of turning up in Florida to get a glimpse of Ryan again and continues the pursuit of his dreams in the pool. His coach has promised that, after Beijing, he can have a long break providing they’re satisfied with his achievements. That’s all the motivation Michael needs to maintain the intensity for a while longer. If his personal life plans fall into place in the way his swimming ones are, he knows that the aftermath of Beijing has a lot of potential.

*

Michael continues his steady course towards Beijing from his base in Michigan. Everything goes as he expects until his penultimate meet prior to trials when he pushes himself out of the warm up pool and comes face to face with Ryan Lochte.

Michael pulls his goggles and cap off and mouths uselessly. Ryan’s fully-clothed and holding a clipboard, but still manages to render Michael speechless.

“Your coach is trying to get your attention,” Ryan points out calmly. No “hi, how are you?” or “nice work, want to grab something to eat later?”.

Michael barely registers the words as he watches Ryan’s lips move around them. He does hear his coach screaming at him, though, and manages to nod at Ryan. The older man, however, has turned away, focused on several swimmers in the warm up pool.

When he emerges from the pool following his race, Michael fumbles through an interview on the deck, too busy scanning the groups nearby for another glimpse of Ryan. He eventually spots him and is distracted from the end of the interview as he takes in the sight of him. He leaves the interviewer and makes to head over to Ryan – hoping that he can find something to say, rather than just staring.

Half way across the deck, Michael stops again when Ryan turns to the side, revealing who it is he’s talking to: Nick.

*

Michael spends twenty agonising minutes waiting for Nick in the locker room. When his teammate appears, Michael corners him by the lockers.

“I saw you,” he spits.

“You were meant too,” Nick replies coolly, without looking at him. “Jealousy’s a terrible look on you.”

“Always was more your style,” Michael bites back.

“I don’t have time to stop,” Nick tells him, grabbing things out of his locker and heading for the showers. “My meet’s over, I’m seeing Ryan tonight.”

*

Two hours later, Michael’s still stewing over his encounter with Nick and the fact that he’s on what Michael has decided is a date with Ryan when there’s a knock at his hotel room door. There’s nobody that Michael feels like talking to, but he knows that if it’s his coach or a member of his family, he’ll have to offer them irrefutable proof of life before they’ll leave him alone.

He opens the door and finds Hilary waiting for him.

“Can I come in?” she asks.

“No,” Michael says, trying to close the door.

“Okay, so you don’t want to hear about the conversation I had with Ryan today, then,” she continues.

Michael opens the door again and steps back to let her in. He closes the door behind his sister and follows her into the room. Hilary sits on the couch and waits until Michael sits next to her before speaking again.

“I haven’t seen him for almost four years,” she tells her brother. “You don’t know why we broke up, do you?”

Michael shakes his head. “I’m not going to tell you,” Hilary continues. “But I will tell you that he apologised today. And he asked after you.”

“And?” Michael prompts.

“I told him you’re doing well,” she shrugs. “That as far as I know, you’re not seeing anyone and still have a phenomenal crush on him.”

“Hilary!” Michael thunders. “What the fuck?” He stands up, pacing the room.

Hilary rolls her eyes. “Michael, anyone with half a brain cell could tell from the moment you met him that you fancied the ass off Ryan.”

“You all knew?!” Michael asks in disbelief.

“Of course we did!” she tells him. “Well, I’m not sure about Mom, but she’s not stupid, so I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Michael groans. “Great. Fucking great.”

“Michael, it’s been...” Hilary’s cut off by a knocking at the door. Michael’s not sure whether to be relieved or pissed off, but he stalks over to answer it anyway.

Ryan being at his door is a moment Michael has fantasised about many times, but he gets the distinct feeling that this scenario isn’t going to play out in the same way in real life.

“Can I come in?” Ryan asks quietly.

“Yep,” Hilary answers on Michael’s behalf. “I was just leaving.” She squeezes Ryan’s shoulder on her way out of the room and Ryan offers her a small smile in return. He follows Michael into the room and closes the door behind himself.

“You sure you don’t want to talk to anyone else about me first?” Michael asks when he hears the door click shut. “My coach? Or the press, maybe?”

“Wow. So the rumours about your attitude problem are true,” Ryan replies. “Remember who you’re talking to.”

Michael snorts. “Yeah, a wash up.”

“I’d hoped you wouldn’t make me regret sticking up for you,” Ryan says quietly.

Michael turns around. “What did you say?”

“I know that he told you,” Ryan replies. “You know I’ve come straight from seeing Nick.”

“Why did you have to stick up for me?” Michael asks. “Nobody asked you to.”

“Because you made a really fucking bad choice by using him,” Ryan shakes his head. “Seriously, dude. If you wanted to know how I was, why not just call me?”

Michael blushes and turns away again. “I mean, I can understand why you wouldn’t mention having a crush on me, given that I used to date your sister, that I’m a lot older than you and that we lived far apart, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t pick up the phone and say hi all by yourself,” Ryan continues.

Michael cracks then, whirling around to face Ryan again. “Why do you all find it such a big deal? Why can’t you just be flattered?”

Ryan holds his hands up. “Who says I’m not? I mean, I find it pretty weird – you were fourteen when I first met you, Michael. Would you not freak out if I told you that I’d been attracted to you back then?”

“No!” Michael yells.

Ryan rolls his eyes again. “Of course, because you thought you were ten years older than you actually were, my bad.”

“There you go again,” Michael shouts, waving an arm out. “It’s fine to mock Michael, he’s just a kid, he doesn’t care, he can run to his Mom and cry on her shoulder.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Ryan sighs exasperatedly. “For the record, the age gap now that you’re an adult would be the least of my worries.”

Michael’s on full alert at those words, mind going a mile a minute to interpret them. “So you’re saying you would?”

“Whoa,” Ryan holds his hands up again, looking worried. “Don’t go making that leap. I would have so many reservations, you have no idea.”

“Name them,” Michael challenges. “I bet they’re all bullshit.”

“You don’t even know that I like guys,” Ryan retorts.

“Nick made a pass, he must’ve seen something to make him do that,” Michael shoots back.

“Tons of people experiment in college.”

“Except you weren’t in college by then.”

Ryan runs a hand through his hair and begins what must be a rehearsed speech, counting off on his fingers. “I’m older than you. I’ve known you since you were a kid. Not only did I date your sister, but we lived together, I’ve slept with her, your family all know me as her ex... I could go on with that one, but the sister thing is basically a huge issue all by itself. Fucking huge.”

He pauses to take a breath. “You’re Michael fucking Phelps and that’s a big deal these days. I’m a coach now, if that’s not a conflict of interest, I don’t know what is. And I’ve never been with a guy.”

He gives his last reason in a rush, as if hoping Michael won’t hear it. But it’s the reason that Michael hears the loudest and the one which excites him the most. Because that reason had never been among his dreams, but now that he’s heard it, he finds it a huge turn on to know that he could have Ryan here and now in a way no other guy ever had. This is what he’s been waiting for and he strides over to Ryan to take this golden opportunity.

Michael stands close in front of Ryan, revelling in how different it feels to the last time they were near each other. They’re both a different physical presence compared with four years previously – Michael’s bigger, more confident and, as Ryan pointed out, very definitely an adult. With the knowledge Ryan has given Michael, their dynamic has shifted and Michael can feel an energy coursing through his body that definitely wasn’t there when his sister was in the room.

He looks down into Ryan’s eyes and murmurs, “There’s a first time for everything.”

Michael tilts Ryan’s chin upwards and presses his lips to the older man’s, giving the kiss everything he has. The breath that Ryan sucks in just as their lips meet makes Michael moan softly and he has to remind himself that, although he wants to make up for lost time and waste no more of it, he also wants this to be far more than a one night stand. He keeps the kiss as restrained as possible, trying to convey his feelings for Ryan with the gesture.

Ryan plants his hands on Michael’s chest and pushes him away, shaking his head. “Did you not hear me? I came here to tell you that we can’t.”

“No,” Michael asserts. “We can.”

“We can’t and we won’t,” Ryan repeats. “It’s time to drop it, Michael. Not gonna happen.”

“You’re wrong,” Michael warns. “It will happen.”

Ryan shakes his head, moving towards the door. He pauses with his hand on the handle and turns to look at Michael, issuing a final plea. “I’m responsible for ruining my first career, and I accept that. I love what I do now. I’m good at it. And I’ll get better, be more successful, be thought of differently. Please don’t ruin that for me by trying to make us happen.”

Something in Michael’s stomach twists and suddenly he feels fifteen again, hearing Ryan’s previous statement in his head, that he’s not worth it. Michael decides that, for the first time, he’ll try being honest.

“You’re on my list,” he blurts out.

“I’m what?”

“My goal list,” Michael clarifies, cringing internally at how lame that sounds. “Have been since day one. I’ve waited over eight years already, Ryan, and it hasn’t killed me yet.”

He leans past Ryan and opens the door for him. “I’m retiring before I’m thirty. And I’m having you before then as well.”

*

Michael’s become adept at compartmentalising his life. He only allows himself to think of Ryan and the kiss within the confines of his apartment, and manages to stick to this rule until he arrives at the pool for Olympic trials. Overwhelmed by the familiar sights, sounds and smells, Michael’s unable to stop himself from thinking about Ryan and how, for the first time in almost nine years, he’s desperate not to see him.

Michael’s glad that Ryan is still only assistant coach in Florida, that he’d been at the meet a few months previously as a one-off and he’d be either on vacation or back at home coaching whoever had been left behind. So the guy on deck talking to Michael’s coach and the head UF coach who looks remarkably like Ryan – because Michael would know that ass anywhere – can’t possibly be Ryan.

Michael walks towards the pool and is just about to drop in when his coach spots him and waves him over. There’s something really wrong with Michael’s legs, walking is a huge challenge as he joins the group of coaches and one of them begins to speak to him.

“Michael, you remember Gregg Troy?” Bob asks. Michael nods, sticking out his hand for Gregg to shake.

“Good to see you again,” he mumbles, barely glancing at Gregg.

“I don’t think you guys need introducing, but just thought I’d bring you up to speed with Ryan,” Gregg smiles, gesturing to his protégé. “He’s moving through the ranks quickly, it’s likely he’ll join the national team staff sooner rather than later.”

“Great,” Michael mutters. “Good for you.”

Bob frowns at Michael and jerks his head towards the pool, indicating that Michael is excused and should get in to start his practice. What was already going to be a long, hard meet just got even tougher.

*

Michael focuses hard on just two things at trials: swimming fast and ignoring Ryan. Both things go brilliantly and he qualifies in all of the events he had aimed for. The murmurs about the clause in his contract with his sponsors regarding a huge cash bonus if he ties Spitz’s famous record start to bubble up again, but Michael waves them away at every press conference. Of course it’s what he’s aiming for, but there’s no way he’ll admit that to those who just want him to fail.

At the end of the meet, Michael ducks out early: after years of waiting, Bob has finally secured their ticket back to their home club, but the catch is that they have to move prior to the Olympics. Michael had been too busy in the run up to trials to get himself organised in Michigan, so he’s heading back to oversee things being moved out of his apartment in preparation for them being taken to his new home in Baltimore.

He waits in a quiet corner of the hotel lobby for his ride to the airport, headphones on and cap pulled low, trying to avoid any kind of attention. Eventually, his phone buzzes, telling him that his car has arrived. Michael stands up, shouldering his bags and making to head off, but as he’s ready to step out of the quiet alcove, the crowd in the lobby shifts to let some people through towards the elevators.

Michael retreats again briefly, letting the people pass. As he waits, he realises that he recognises one of the figures: Ryan. A guy follows closely behind him and as they wait for the doors to open, Michael’s dealt a fresh blow. The guy’s hands move over Ryan’s back and ass excitedly, Ryan grinning back at him in appreciation.

Michael’s phone buzzes again and he’s reminded that he has somewhere to be. Somewhere that, once again, doesn’t involve getting what he wants.

*

The following morning, Michael gets the removal guys started on his apartment before heading to the pool for his final Michigan workout. As he swims his sets, his mind wanders back to seeing Ryan the night before. His imagination creates a scenario he really doesn’t want to think about, and he forces himself to shut off again as he swims his warm down.

Bob isn’t on the deck when Michael gets out of the pool, so he grabs a towel and heads to his office. Bob isn’t in his office either, but Ryan is and Michael erupts.

“What the fuck?” he asks.

Ryan’s behind Bob’s desk, muttering under his breath at the computer, but looks up at Michael’s outburst.

“Most people find ‘hi’ to be a more standard greeting,” Ryan replies before turning back to the computer.

“To be honest, I don’t know whether I’m more surprised that you’re behind that desk or out of bed at all, given what I saw last night,” Michael retorts.

Ryan stops what he’s doing and stares. “Excuse me?”

“You heard. I saw you and your piece last night.”

Ryan stands up abruptly, trying to diffuse the situation. “Michael, it’s not what you...”

Michael laughs. “Oh because nobody’s used that line before. It was exactly what I think it was, Ryan. I’ve got eyes.”

“We really have to...”

“No, we don’t,” Michael tells him firmly. “Congratulations on your new job, I hope you’ll be happy here.”

“Thanks,” Ryan mumbles. “I guess I’ll see you in Beijing.”

It’s Michael’s turn to register shock. “Wow. Who else did you screw to move up the ranks that fast?”

It’s a low blow and he knows it, and it’s one which pushes too far. “You know, I really thought you’d grown up a bit,” Ryan hisses. “I wish I’d been right. Why can it not be that I’m good at what I do? Is that so impossible?”

Michael has no comeback this time. He knows that he should apologise, but there’s something holding him back, something he isn’t sure how to define. “I’ve got a plane to catch,” he mutters, leaving the office.

For the rest of the day, Michael’s thoughts are dominated by how on earth he’s going to survive Beijing. And why, for almost a decade he’s lusted after Ryan, but it’s only now that he’s started to feel jealous.

*

Michael comes to the conclusion that the best way to ignore Ryan is to block out everyone. For some reason, despite now being one of the more senior figures in the team and definitely among the most successful, Michael has still never managed to make more than a couple of passing acquaintances. He’s actually created a few enemies along the way as well, but absolutely nobody he’d refer to as a friend. So he figures he has nothing to lose in his personal life and everything to gain in the pool. The pool is what matters, what he’s worked for. And he’ll be damned if anyone’s taking that away from him.

His private dress rehearsal at training camp goes well. Michael sticks to the rules, listens to his coach and gets the job done. What disappoints him slightly is that Ryan doesn’t even try to get through to him – nor do any of his teammates, but that doesn’t worry Michael. Ryan doesn’t play games, like trying to send other people with messages for Michael, just stays quietly away, getting on with his own job.

By the time they get to Beijing, Michael’s got his routine down pat, plus there are an increased amount of distractions with the media presence. What he hadn’t factored in, but is a glorious bonus, is the level of exhaustion he experiences once the meet begins.

Thanks to the might of the US networks overpowering even the force that is the IOC, the timings of the sessions are unlike anything any of the swimmers have experienced before. Michael’s old mantra of “eat, sleep, swim” comes back into force and this time, it powers him to eight gold medals and the kind of attention that was beyond his wildest dreams.

Unlike Athens, there is no time for quiet contemplation when it’s all over: Michael has one afternoon of press and one night of partying ahead before he has to be on a plane to London, for more press and other commitments and what he’s been promised will be the ride of his life.

But first, he joins his teammates – and a lot of people he really doesn’t recognise – for a party. It begins with a dinner which is fairly sedate – various families are present, so most of the athletes manage to keep a hold of themselves. Michael spends this part of the evening with Hilary, Whitney and his Mom, mind still whirling in disbelief at what he has achieved, and part of his body begging him for a sleep.

When his family leave, his Mom quietly reminds him to have fun and, as usual, it’s her words which sink in the most. It’s taken a while to unwind from his tightly-sealed bubble, but after a few drinks, Michael joins in with the festivities and follows his teammates from restaurant to bar to club.

It’s unlike any night out Michael’s been on before. Every person on the street and in the club knows his name: who he is, what he’s done. Everyone wants an autograph – some of them on body parts which Michael definitely isn’t used to seeing – and a lot of people want pictures. Progress is slow due to the swarm of people, but some of them run off and return with drinks, so as was the case four years earlier, Michael’s always got at least one hand full.

Part of him can’t help but wish that he’d stayed in, so that he could attempt to absorb some of this by himself, but his memory throws up the advice of those who have gone before him. Michael remembers that this is a tiny part of his life, he’s still young and his intention is still very much to retire before he’s thirty. He hasn’t decided what he’ll do when he doesn’t swim anymore, but he guesses that, if he wants to, he can sit and stare at his medals and think everything through then. So Michael stops thinking and starts drinking.

In the early hours of the morning, girls stop asking for pictures and autographs and instead start asking for his number, or where he’s staying, or if he’d like to follow them to the bathroom. He spends a long time fighting them away, or passing them off to teammates who would be far more interested than he is. At one point, he turns around to find someone and realises that there’s nobody left. Except Ryan.

Michael raises an eyebrow, gesturing to the girl and Ryan shakes his head and disappears through the crowd. Unsure of what he’s doing and why, Michael gives the girl a fake phone number and darts after Ryan through the crowd. He bursts out of what appears to be a fire exit into the night air, just in time to see Ryan heading quickly for the street.

“Wait!” Michael calls, reaching out to grab Ryan’s arm, turning him around.

The older man stops. “Why?”

“I’m sorry,” Michael blurts out.

“What for?” Ryan asks, folding his arms in a challenge.

Michael senses an opportunity and swallows, trying to get his alcohol-soaked brain to focus. “For trying to fob her off on you,” he says. Ryan snorts. “I’m not done!”

Ryan cocks an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything. Michael gathers himself again and continues. “I’m sorry for... what I... being a... I was a jerk. In Michigan. And I’m sorry. You’re a great coach, you deserve everything you have and you don’t need me to tell you that. And you’re also an adult, who can make his own choices and you don’t have to justify your choices to anyone, nevermind me and...”

He trails off, unsure of what was supposed to follow the final “and”. Michael waits, looking at Ryan and breathing heavily from the effort of running across the sweaty club to find him. He also doesn’t know where his outburst came from, knowing that his apologies wouldn’t have emerged sober, even though they should’ve done.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I should’ve said all of that before but I... I didn’t want to admit that I was wrong. Or you were right. And it felt like if I did, I was giving up on something I want really badly.”

“You’re giving up?” Ryan asks, voice a little shaky.

“Well...” Michael considers, taking a small step closer. “You haven’t given me any choice. I’m not giving up forever, just for now. One day, you’ll see. You’ll wake up and you’ll get it. I won’t be fourteen anymore and you won’t be with my sister anymore and I won’t be swimming and it’ll work, I know it. I can’t force you. But I can wait, and I can show you how it would be the right thing.”

“Is that you saying you’re carrying on?”

Michael nods. “I think,” he says slowly, “that London is the end. And I figure that you’re sticking around so... we have to find a way to have a... I mean, to make it work. Like, together. Work together. In the team. Fuck, I’m not making sense.” He rakes a hand through his hair and turns away, leaning against the wall of the building in frustration.

“You know, there’s nothing to be jealous of,” Ryan says quietly.

“Of course there isn’t, I’m the best, hadn’t you heard?” Michael blurts out, unable to stop his inner-teenager from escaping.

“Maybe you are,” Ryan shrugs. “It’ll be a little while before I find out for sure.”

Michael stands up again, registering the words. “But you will?”

“Probably,” Ryan admits. “You want to know what happened?”

Michael nods, suddenly anxious about what Ryan might say but unable to consider the possibility of dying wondering about it.

“Nothing,” Ryan tells him. “Nothing happened. We went back to my room and I...” he pauses to laugh, “I was like some hopeless kid. I kicked him out.”

“What?” Michael asks, focusing hard on Ryan’s face, trying to understand what he’s said.

Ryan looks down, twisting his hands together. “After... _that_ incident. At the meet,” Ryan clears his throat. “When I told you about, uh, what I haven’t done, I wasn’t sure what to do. I didn’t know whether to wait around, whether you really would wait, whether you’d find someone else. And I know you’re no virgin. So I thought I’d like... practice, I guess. Figure it all out. Because that’d just be embarrassing: we both wait and then a few years from now it all happens and I’m the dude in his mid-thirties who fucks like an adolescent...”

Michael lets out a snort at the irony of what Ryan’s telling him. Fortunately, Ryan doesn’t seem to notice and ploughs on.

“But when it came to it, that night,” Ryan swallows. “It just felt... wow, this is gonna make me sound like a sixteen year old girl: wrong. And I freaked out. Because I didn’t know if it felt wrong because of him or me or it being a guy – I mean, we all know I’m fine with girls, after all – or... because it wasn’t you.”

He finally looks at Michael, waiting for his reaction. “Hold up,” Michael says. “Did you... was it awful when I kissed you?”

Ryan winces. “I don’t really remember,” he admits. “It’s all a bit of a blur. But... I... there’s a way I can figure it out.”

“So?” Michael asks. “Why are you stood here telling me?”

“Because,” Ryan steps closer, moving into Michael’s space, “you’re the way.” Before Michael knows what’s happening, Ryan reaches out and draws him in, pressing their lips together.

Michael reacts instantly, wrapping his arms around Ryan, pulling him close as a way to literally cling to the moment. Their previous kiss had been all too short and had led to months of not speaking and here he was, checking goals off his list at a speed even he had thought improbable.

When Ryan presses his body closer and slides his tongue over Michael’s lips and into his mouth, Michael wants to let go and punch the air with his fist. But he doesn’t. He focuses instead on letting Ryan’s tongue roam around his mouth, and moving his own hands up and down Ryan’s back, learning the span of muscles across the older man’s back.

Michael quickly loses track of time and finds himself short of breath when Ryan pulls away, also panting.

“Well?” Michael manages to ask.

Ryan doesn’t answer, but grabs Michael’s hand and places it over his own crotch, allowing Michael to feel his hardened dick.

“Good sign,” Michael nods. “Let’s go.”

Ryan opens his mouth to protest and Michael silences him with a kiss. “You said yourself,” he murmurs, nipping at Ryan’s lips, “that it wasn’t working with someone else. Let me show you how it goes. I’ll prove that I’ve been right all along.”

Ryan nods. “Okay,” he exhales, trying to steady himself. “But we can’t get caught. Go, I’ll be right behind you. Text me your room number.”

Michael kisses Ryan again and reluctantly heads towards the street. “Leave soon,” he pleads. “I’ll be waiting.”

*

Michael makes it back to his hotel room in less than ten minutes, texting Ryan when he’s in the cab. Ryan doesn’t reply, but Michael doesn’t worry about it, just puts his phone on loud and leaves it on the dresser as he dashes around the room: in a sudden burst of inspiration and nervousness, he realises it’d be a good idea to pack his things, as he has to leave fairly early to catch his flight and he wants to make the most of his time with Ryan.

By the time he’s made the room presentable, picked the towels up off the floor and packed everything he doesn’t need the following morning, Michael realises he’s been back for ten minutes, which means that Ryan can’t be far away. Michael’s wanted this to happen for almost nine years and now here he is, perilously close to getting the person he’s wanted and he wants to throw up.

He goes into the bathroom and splashes his face with cold water, trying to calm himself down, but only realises what he looks and smells like. Michael grabs his toothbrush and cleans his teeth whilst hunting for a fresh shirt, yanking his old one off and slipping the t-shirt on. Teeth cleaned and clothes changed, he doesn’t feel a lot better, but as his eyes land on the mini-bar, he thinks he may have found the answer to his problems.

Michael quickly raids the bar and downs a miniature whisky, finding that it tastes even worse than usual and kicking himself when he realises it’s because the taste of toothpaste has lingered in his mouth. He re-brushes his teeth and checks the time again. Another five minutes.

He paces the room, periodically checking that he has phone signal, that the text he sent Ryan actually went. He strides over and yanks the door to his room open, cross-checking with the message that he sent the right number and that Ryan can’t be drunkenly banging some other unsuspecting guest.

Michael sits down on the bed, trying to figure out if it’s best to call Ryan or Interpol or someone in a blind panic, when there’s a knock at the door, making Michael jump. He’s at the door quickly and pulls it open, falling against the wall in relief when he sees Ryan, a bottle swinging from his hand.

“Sorry ‘m late,” he mutters.

Michael shakes his head, gasping for breath and pulls Ryan into the room. “You’re here now,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around him and kissing the older man as if it’s a contest. Michael closes the door and steers Ryan further into the room, pushing his jacket off his shoulders.

Ryan leans back and takes a swig from his bottle before discarding it on the coffee table. He quickly reaches for Michael again, kissing him back and guiding him towards the bed. Michael falls back onto the bed and stretches out to pull Ryan with him, but the older man shakes his head, undoing his belt.

“Strip,” Ryan orders.

With one word, Michael’s transported back to his teenage fantasies, played out in the cinema of his mind in the dark of his bedroom at his Mom’s house, dog-eared photo in his left hand and alarm set for morning practice. He swallows, feeling everything slow down for a few seconds as Ryan grips the hem of his own t-shirt and pulls it smoothly over his head, discarding it on the floor and turning his attention to the removal of his pants.

Before Ryan can catch him staring, Michael scrambles to catch up, wriggling out of his clothes and shoving them onto the floor. Ryan stands beside the bed in his underwear and, this time, Michael decides it’s no bad thing to let the older man know that he’s staring. He reaches out and runs his hand up the centre of Ryan’s thigh, over the fabric of his briefs and around his hip, stroking the skin at Ryan’s waist.

“No big deal,” Ryan murmurs. “You’ve seen it all before.”

Michael nods, moving his hand to rub beneath the waistband of Ryan’s underwear, and shifting it further around to squeeze his ass. Ryan seems to make a decision and grunts, pulling his underwear off abruptly. Much to Michael’s disappointment, Ryan drops to the floor and scrabbles around for something.

“C’mon, MP,” Ryan calls from his position out of view. “Get naked, let’s do this.”

Michael frowns but does as he’s told, shifting further back onto the bed. He’s about to ask Ryan what he’s doing when the other man re-appears, clutching a large box of condoms.

Michael can’t help but laugh. “Optimistic about tonight, then,” he grins.

“Shut up,” Ryan mutters, smacking Michael’s thigh as he joins him on the bed. “The store didn’t have any small boxes. It’s not a competition to see if we can use them all tonight.”

Michael strokes his hand up Ryan’s thigh again, leaning in to kiss him and trying to calm Ryan’s obvious bout of nerves. “Mmm, I bet we could,” he smiles, kissing Ryan slowly.

“Really don’t think anyone’s ass can take that,” Ryan says, ripping one open and leaning back to roll it on.

“Whoa,” Michael chokes. “What’re you doing?”

Ryan pauses, blinking at Michael. “Don’t tell me you got us naked to just, like, snuggle, dude.”

“You got us naked, actually,” Michael reminds him, pushing himself into a sitting position. “But, like, where’s the fire?”

“Again,” Ryan still looks confused. “Are you telling me you don’t want to fuck?”

“I’m saying,” Michael leans forward, wrapping his hand around Ryan’s neck and kissing him gently, “it’s not a race. We have all night.”

“You don’t want to?” Ryan’s gone from confused to wounded. Michael worries briefly that this is all wrong, this isn’t the romantic fairytale of his fantasies and that, if he’s not careful, it definitely won’t end well.

“I do,” he says reassuringly. “Of course I do. I just...” he pauses, biting his lip and trying to figure out how to say what he wants without causing offense.

Ryan’s drunken brain makes the leap and he snorts. “Stop getting hung up about me being a gay virgin. I’m not a total monk, and I’m a grown up, I can look after myself, okay? I want to do this.”

Michael looks at Ryan steadily for a moment before nodding, deciding that this is the path of least resistance and that they can figure out any issues when they’ve both sobered up and slept. He carefully takes the condom from Ryan and puts it on him. “This is kinda appropriate, then,” he says quietly, kissing Ryan again. “Because this is new for you and I don’t normally...”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Figures. Roll over, let’s see what you’re made of.”

Michael does as he’s told, leaning on his forearms and trying to remember the instructions he normally issues to the guys he fucks. He shifts his hips, kneeling up and spreading his legs, glancing over his shoulder when Ryan doesn’t move into the space he’s created.

“Problem?” Michael asks.

Ryan stares at Michael’s raised ass, transfixed. “Uh,” he mutters nonsensically.

Michael swears to himself, remembering that he wasn’t prepared for this and assumes that Ryan isn’t either. He spits on his hand and reaches back for Ryan’s. “Here,” he says, guiding their fingers towards his ass. “Like this.”

It’s awkward, Michael fumbling to manipulate Ryan’s unsteady hand and groaning as he presses both of their fingers into his body at once. He has to remind himself to relax, though it’s proving difficult as he’s trying to guide Ryan through this new experience whilst not being all that sober or balanced.

“You good?” he groans a minute later. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” Ryan rasps, twisting his finger to nudge Michael’s out of the way. “Uh. More?”

Michael nods, wrapping his freed hand around his dick and stroking slowly. “Spread ‘em a little,” he suggests. “Like this,” he offers, letting go of his dick briefly to hold his hand up and make a slight scissoring gesture.

Ryan does so and Michael lets out a stream of curses, gripping the mattress tightly and rocking back against Ryan’s hand. “Yeah, that’s it,” he encourages. He feels Ryan shift and hears him spit, followed by a soft slap as, presumably, he wraps his other hand around his own dick.

“Fuck, Ryan,” Michael moans. “Shit, I want you.”

“Yeah?”

Michael nods again, arching his back and pushing closer to Ryan. “Give it to me.”

Ryan pulls his fingers out and presses his dick against Michael’s entrance. “Like, slow, or...”

Michael wants to groan in frustration, but somehow bites it back. It’s a long time since he’s fucked a virgin and he forgot how much the experience was riddled with insecurity and uncertainty. He’s also frustrated by the fact that, after all this time, he’s being denied the opportunity to look into Ryan’s face, to have that natural method of communication. But it feels like it’s far too late to argue, so he holds still and offers further instructions.

“Just... steady at first,” he says. “You’ll get the feel for it, you’ll know when you can, like, pick it up.”

Michael closes his eyes as Ryan presses the head of his dick into his body. He moves with the older man, relaxing with the movement and allowing Ryan to slide home. Ryan lets out a breathy, “Fuck” and Michael hopes that he’s going to be able to stop giving step-by-step instructions at some point very soon, because it’s definitely taking the fun out of the whole experience.

Fortunately, Ryan seems to catch on and withdraws steadily before pushing back in. He falls into a slow but firm rhythm and Michael lets out the breath he was holding, joining in with the rolling movement of Ryan’s hips and matching his hand up to Ryan’s thrusts.

Michael’s encouragement begins to take on the more standard type of positive encouragement, a stream of babble mainly involving, “Yes, Ryan... that... there... oh, that’s good... faster...”

As Ryan moves faster, he begins a commentary of his own: “Fuck yes... so tight... feels good...”

Michael’s confused, unsure whether to speed himself up or slow down, lacking a point of reference without being able to see Ryan’s face and this being their first time together, so he has to ask the question he always hates. “You close?” he pants.

Ryan groans in response, rhythm losing pace momentarily. “So close,” he finally confirms, thrusting with greater purpose.

Michael speeds up his strokes, shuddering involuntarily and tightening his muscles around Ryan, eliciting a, “Fuuuuuck” from the other man.

“C’mon, Ry,” Michael grunts. “Close, let’s go.”

At Michael’s request, Ryan makes a final long thrust and groans loudly. He moves in and out of Michael once more, before withdrawing completely and moving away. Michael reels a little at the loss of contact and Ryan’s apparent disinterest in him, but he’s close enough that nothing can pull him back from the edge so he closes his eyes and finishes himself off quickly.

Ryan staggers off the bed and Michael rolls onto the dry side of the bed, hearing the snap and rustle of the condom hitting the trash. Michael puts his arm over his eyes, recovering his breathing and listening to Ryan stumble into the bathroom and run some water. He wills himself to stay awake, to try and figure out what to say to Ryan and where to go from here, but everything catches up with him at once: the alcohol, the partying, the night with Ryan and the fact that he’s just made history, and Michael’s body gives in to the need for sleep.

*

The following morning, Michael wakes up moments before his alarm goes off and instantly knows something is wrong. He makes a quick assessment of himself: his head isn’t sore and nothing else hurts, but he’s chilly. He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but seems to have done so naked... At this point, he opens his eyes and glances at the other side of the bed, finding it empty.

Then it all comes flooding back: the club, Ryan, having sex... and Michael groans. He doesn’t have to check the floor to know that Ryan’s clothes aren’t where they were when Michael passed out. Michael hauls himself up, scrubbing a hand over his face. Everything else is in place, where he’d tidied his belongings prior to Ryan’s arrival. He silences his alarm and picks up his phone, skimming through his messages to check whether there’s anything from Ryan.

As he listens to his voicemails – none of which are from Ryan – Michael gets up and wanders around to check whether the other man has left a note. Michael growls in frustration when he finds the rest of the room untouched and quickly dials Ryan’s number. It goes straight to voicemail and Michael lets out a stream of consciousness.

“Ry, it’s me,” he begins. “I just woke up and I don’t know where you are, but you were definitely here when I fell... I mean, passed out. Sorry about that, by the way.” He sighs, reaching into the bathroom to turn the shower on. “Please call or text me to let me know that you’re okay. I’m flying to London so I won’t reply for a while but... I need to know that you’re alright.”

Michael hangs up and stares at the phone for a minute, willing Ryan to respond. The phone does ring, and Michael pounces on it, but is quickly disappointed when he hears his agent’s voice.

“I’m on my way,” he mutters. “Just need to shower.”

Michael hangs up again, sets his phone down and gets in the shower, re-assessing his goals.

*

Michael turns his phone on as soon as the plane touches down in London and is disappointed to find that he still hasn’t heard from Ryan. He changes tack and decides to text him, letting Ryan know that he was disappointed not to see him or speak to him before leaving China, and that he hopes he’ll get in touch soon.

And then Michael’s new life begins. It’s no secret that Michael is making a bold attempt to change his sport, not just in terms of personal achievement, but so that more people sit up and pay attention outside of the week every four years when swimming gets primetime TV coverage.

His agent has him hit the promotional trail hard, and it’s definitely the longest period of time he’s been away from chlorinated water since he can remember. Michael wakes up in the middle of the night a few months later actually yearning for the pool – and his home, which he still feels like he hasn’t settled into, and his family, and the dog he’d finally managed to get. Then he remembers that he can find a little piece of home where he is.

Michael slips out of bed and rummages through his luggage for something appropriate to wear. He grabs his key, tugs on a t-shirt and grabs a towel, making his way down to the hotel pool. When Michael drops into the water a few minutes later – not nearly deep enough, in a pool which is far too small and without a pair of goggles – he’s amazed to find that he feels calmer and more settled than he has since... he doesn’t want to think about when.

It frightens Michael that there are two places on the planet he feels comfortable: swimming pools and his Mom’s house. Because Michael’s fully aware that one day in the next few years, he’ll stop getting in the pool daily, or even weekly, and he doesn’t want that to mean he sits in his mother’s house day in day out. He starts to think about what might happen when he ends his swimming career and what his life might look like, but struggles to come up with anything which could occupy him in the same way that swimming has dominated his life. The only other thing which has come close to holding his attention for so long is his interest in Ryan. But it’s been three months, and Ryan’s made it clear that he’s not interested in Michael.

As he sits in the pool, water ebbing around his tired body, Michael starts to think about whether he can see a future without Ryan and, if he can’t, how he’ll convince the other man to be a part of his life.

*

Aside from his solo midnight dip and to race Anderson Cooper, Michael doesn’t go near a pool for six months. Instead, he does a lot of drinking, partying and eating. When the echo of Bob’s whistle and his internal alarm clock signify the end of his extended vacation, Michael hauls himself back to the pool. And then the world finds out that Michael didn’t just drink and eat during his time off. In the midst of phone calls and his disappointed family and the press hounding him and sponsors complaining, Michael thinks back to the underage DUI and realises how little that mattered by comparison. 

Having been banned from competition for three months, Michael finds it hard to get motivated to attend training. One particularly miserable afternoon when the phone just won’t stop ringing – a tag team of his agent wanting more statements and his friends calling to offer support – Michael rummages through some of the cases he still hasn’t unpacked which have been shipped to his Baltimore apartment from Michigan.

When he finds what he’s looking for, Michael whistles for his dog and goes into the bedroom, getting under the covers with the blinds closed and his best friend by his side. Michael turns page after page of his ancient notebook, reading over the occasional notes he’d written to himself: “arms hurt, hate the parachute” and “finally shaved that second off, feeling good!” or “still bruised from those fucking muscle torture things”.

There are, of course, pages where nothing extra is said, just row upon row of tallies. Michael looks at each line, knowing the amount of pain, dedication and missing out which went into each and every one. The sacrifice and the self-belief and the growth that he’s gone through. As the pages loosen, the dog-eared photo of Ryan falls out, landing in Michael’s lap. He picks it up, running his thumb over the faded glossed surface, Ryan’s twenty-one year old face smiling back at him.

Michael feels a lump form in his throat as he thinks of the day it was taken, and the day after, and the summer after that. He thinks about how many times he’s actually personally interacted with Ryan since it was taken, and how he’s felt each time. And when Michael really thinks about it, Ryan has very rarely made him feel good about himself, made him feel wanted or valued. For someone that Michael so desires to spend time with, Ryan’s mostly been shitty company. Yet Michael still wants him, still misses him.

The dog shifts and groans beside him and Michael reaches out to rub his ears. “Maybe I’m crazy, Herm,” he muses. “But it’s been going on for so long, I just don’t think I’m ready to give up. So I’ll just have to figure it out.”

Herman grunts again and Michael further questions his life choices given that he’s discussing affairs of the heart with his dog. But at the moment, there’s nobody else he really wants to talk this over with. In the absence of a quick solution, Michael continues flicking through the book, thinking about the distance he still has to cover.

*

Incredibly, only one sponsor deserts Michael completely. But he’s still banned. In the build up to Worlds. So he does the only thing he knows how to do: puts his head down and kicks and pulls for the wall.

As he’s swimming up and down, day after day at Meadowbrook, Michael realises he’s angry with two people: himself and Ryan. Days when he’s angry at himself result in good practices. Days when he’s angry at Ryan generate poor performances. Unfortunately, the latter are more frequent, and his coach is deeply dissatisfied.

Michael’s on his way to practice one morning and feeling particularly angry with Ryan. And he knows that he’s about to go and put up some shitty times at the pool – for no good reason, as he can’t race – so he cracks, and dials Ryan’s number.

It goes straight to voicemail. Michael contemplates hanging up, but decides it’s high time he let Ryan – or his message service – have it. “Hi Ryan, it’s Michael,” he begins angrily. “Just thought that it’s about time that someone called you out on being a bitter, closeted asshole. Thought i should do it because, as far as I know, I’m the only one qualified. But as it’s been eight months since we spoke, maybe I’m not! I kind of don’t blame you for running away: it was that bad, that I probably would too. But it didn’t have to be, that’s the most frustrating part. I just wish I knew how to stop you being so fucking afraid of this. Because I know I’m right. But I’m getting tired of waiting for you to figure that out too.”

He hangs up and stops at a red light, preparing to make another turn towards the pool. Michael finds himself wondering why he’s bothering: here he is, banned from competition but driving to practice at five in the morning, when there are a million other cool places in the world he could be.

When the light changes, Michael doesn’t turn towards the pool. He turns around, drives back home, grabs his passport and a bag of clothes and goes to the airport.

*

Michael’s memories of his spontaneous trip to Vegas are limited. He mostly recalls headaches, lying by the pool but resolutely not going in it, picking up a guy at the pool bar and then not leaving his room for almost thirty-six hours.

His lost weekend is interrupted by his mother. Michael answers the phone without really thinking, but Debbie’s voice is calm.

“Michael,” she says, “you know that I’m happy to look after Herman when you have to go away, but you do need to tell me. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not psychic.”

“How’d you...” Michael trails off, partly because Debbie cuts him off, partly because the body beside him shifts closer, easing over his own to straddle him. Lips mouth at his neck as his Mom continues.

“Bob called.”

“What?!” Michael explodes, causing his bedmate to recoil. “I’m twenty fucking four and my coach calls my Mom to rat me out for missing practice?”

The guy moves way altogether now, climbing out of the bed and picking his way around the room getting dressed. Michael doesn’t protest, he’s too busy being angry.

“We’re both worried, my boy,” Debbie tells him. “We know you’re angry at yourself, but I can’t help but think there’s something you’re not telling me. You have such a strong, successful body, but I think that you sometimes forget to look after other parts of yourself...”

“I’m fine,” Michael snaps, half listening to the guy he could’ve fucked once more leave the room.

“People who are fine don’t...”

“Don’t what?” Michael sighs, getting out of bed. “Take vacations? Miss work once in a while? Need time out?”

“All of those things,” Debbie agrees, probably trying to placate him. She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “You’re my son, Michael. I love you no matter what. I’m not here to judge you, but if you want my support or advice, you do need to ask.”

“I’m getting the red eye,” Michael mumbles. “Tell Bob I’ll be at morning practice. I’ll pick Herman up after.”

“I’ll fix lunch,” Debbie tells him. “I love you, Michael.”

“I love you too,” he replies reflexively before hanging up and packing his things.

*

Michael tries and fails to ignore Ryan at the selection meet for Worlds. Not only does he see him everywhere, but he gets asked about the UM coach by every interviewer he speaks to. Apparently, the internet knows that Ryan used to date Michael’s sister – Michael gets fed up by the last day and is sorely tempted to ask the press room if they’ve also heard about the time he and Ryan hooked up the summer before. But he bites his tongue and qualifies. His times aren’t the best, but he’s clawed himself back onto some sort of track.

The wheels come off again on the first day in Rome. Ryan’s been tasked with running practice and it pushes Michael over the edge. He storms back to the locker room and grabs his phone to call Bob. The door opens as he’s waiting for the call to connect and Ryan’s voice rings out, “Is there a problem?”

Michael throws the phone down and yells back. “Yes. You’re it.”

Ryan rounds the corner, bringing himself face to face with Michael. “Is this going to be more or less productive than the voicemail you left me in April?” Ryan asks.

“Oh you got it then?”

“Yes, I did and for your information...”

Michael holds a hand up. “I don’t want to know.”

Ryan purses his lips and nods. “Well. If that’s all... You can go and get in the pool.”

“All?!” Michael fumes.

“If you really want to talk about this, we’ll have to do it somewhere that isn’t here.”

“Walls have ears, do they?” Michael asks sarcastically.

“I don’t think you understand,” Ryan hisses, “that if anyone finds out that the newest national coach screwed a team member – however badly – at the end of the meet in Beijing, that member of staff would be so...”

“Fired?” comes a drawl from behind Ryan.

A look of horror crosses the coach’s face before he whirls around. “You’re late, Clary,” he seethes. “Get changed and get to the deck. You too, Phelps.”

Ryan leaves the locker room, slamming the door on a smug Clary and Michael trying frantically to not let the panic show on his face. The atmosphere bristles between the two swimmers as Tyler gets changed with a smirk on his face. He and Michael have never had a positive relationship, and Michael is all too aware that, of all the people who could’ve found out about what happened between him and Ryan, Tyler is easily the biggest candidate for spreading this gossip quickly.

Michael doesn’t have time to form much of a plan, but quickly realises that he doesn’t have many options. He picks up his phone and fires off a quick text to Ryan.

_[Michael: no regrets, bt if Clary squeals, will deny it. 4 u.]_

He stows his phone and moves into Clary’s space. “Got a girlfriend still?” he asks.

Tyler nods, still smirking.

“Want kids?” Michael pushes. Clary gives him a confused look.

“Keep your mouth shut if you do,” Michael advises, slamming Tyler’s locker shut and stalking out to the pool.

*

Clary, of course, ignores Michael. When he’s called to a meeting that afternoon, Michael hopes that it’s about his own attitude. It’s not. Bob and Gregg are waiting for him, and he sits in front of them coolly.

Gregg clears his throat. “One of your teammates...” he begins.

“Don’t try to protect Clary,” Michael breezes. “This is about him thinking that Ryan and I hooked up.”

Bob rolls his eyes whilst Gregg just stares. “Did you?” Michael’s coach asks.

“No,” Michael answers calmly. Bob will know that he’s lying, but Michael stays firm. “Will that be all?” he asks, getting up.

When neither coach replies, Michael leaves the room, wondering whether to break Clary’s arms or legs first.

*

The rest of the meet passes in a haze which is now familiar to Michael. He loses one race and Bob is furious, though more at the ridiculous suit controversy than anything else. Michael still feels that he’s going through the motions, unsure of what he’s aiming for other than the next meet and the next destination, and that he’s worrying increasingly about what happens when he runs out of pools to conquer.

He’s been home from Rome for a month when he receives a text from Ryan after practice one morning.

_[Ryan: never said thx. So here it is: thank you.]_

When Michael picks up the message in the locker room, he grabs his things and drives straight to the airport.

*

Having had to wait for a flight, Michael arrives in Ann Arbor late that evening. He isn’t sure how to proceed, but instinct draws him to the pool on campus. Fortunately, as he’s walking in, he finds who he’s looking for.

Ryan blinks, processing Michael’s presence. “Not here,” he mutters. 

*

Ryan opens his front door before Michael can even ring the bell.

“Nice place,” Michael remarks. And it is. It’s bigger than Michael had expected, though he knows head coaches make decent money, he expects Ryan – still being young and having ascended quickly – doesn’t command quite the salary of someone like Bob.

“It’s rented,” Ryan tells him, not moving from the foyer. “But I’m guessing you didn’t fly all the way here to discuss property.”

Michael shakes his head, trying to buy some time. Because, in actual fact, he isn’t sure why he is here.

“I’ll go first then, shall I?” Ryan asks. “Dude. We just cannot have another shit show like that. We’re gonna be working together a little for a few years I’m guessing so...”

“I’m not waiting,” Michael cuts in firmly. “I know that being with a guy freaked you out, and that’s a whole separate issue which we should probably talk about, but with the bit about you being a coach and me being an athlete? Bullshit. We’re adults. What’s stopping us from, like... dating?”

“Um, the part which goes, ‘I love my job and don’t want to lose it’. Or were you not listening?”

“Are you planning on making a habit of it?” Michael challenges. “Was I just the beginning? Are you going to work your way through the whole team?”

“Of course not,” Ryan snorts. “But my reputation is everything. I play my cards right, I’m pretty much nailed on for the UF job when Gregg retires. I’m already on the national coaching team. I’m thirty-one, Michael. It’s a long time until I can afford to retire, we don’t all make millions in the pool.”

“I worked fucking hard for that,” Michael growls, irritated that Ryan has dared touch that nerve.

“I know,” Ryan sighs. “I did it too, remember? I push guys through it every day. I see you.”

“Do you? Are you sure? Because I think you still look at me and see the dorky kid brother of your girlfriend. The little kid with impossible dreams.”

“I really wish you’d get over that,” Ryan tells him. “Your inferiority complex mostly comes across as fishing for compliments.”

“Oh so that’s what you see?”

“It’s what you seem determined to show people,” Ryan replies. “But I see... someone who has come a long way. Who is the most dedicated and determined athlete I know – seriously, I wish my team had a tenth of what you do – and who is reaping the rewards of that. Someone who, in a lot of ways, bears a huge responsibility. A person who has no idea how much they are loved, because they can’t see past the self-doubt. And, yes, someone who is still a kid in many ways. Man, I am so excited and scared for you all at once. You have no idea what you’re in for when you’re done. It’ll be amazing but...”

Michael waits, but the end of the sentence doesn’t come. “But what?” he prompts.

Ryan takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. “I have to protect myself,” he says, shaking his head. “When you’re done... life is so so different. No pool. Just freedom. And a person with your money and fame? You’re not gonna want to move to Ann Arbor or Gainesville and sit around all day when I’m clocking laps. And I wouldn’t want you to! You need to go away and see more of the world than airports, hotels and pools.”

Michael’s jaw drops. “It IS my age! You’re still writing this off as a teenage crush!”

“Well... yeah. And how the fuck would your family react?! Half of them thought Hilary would be Mrs Lochte, not you.”

“I could care less,” Michael tells him firmly. “And I’ll never be a Lochte: you’ll be a Phelps.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Problem?” Michael asks.

“Did you just propose?”

Michael thinks back over what he said. “I think the me of the future did,” he decides. “The part of me that knows I’ll still want you when I’m done. You, some dogs, a big house and – maybe, one day – some kids.”

Ryan bites his lip. “You really don’t want anyone else?”

“Do you?” Michael challenges.

Ryan pauses, swallowing and going a little red.

Michael’s eyes widen. “Fuck. Don’t tell me you’re not single.”

“I’m single,” Ryan confirms quickly, much to Michael’s relief. “But over the last year, there were times when I wasn’t.”

Michael isn’t sure how to handle this information. On one hand, he can totally understand: as a long-term fan of Ryan’s body, he can see what anyone else can. Add in the Floridian charm and Ryan’s pretty irresistible in Michael’s eyes. But on the other hand...

“You said,” Michael stutters, “you... with another guy...”

Ryan nods. “I know. But after that night,” he swallows, “I was so embarrassed. Like, you knew I was no virgin. But I fucked like one. God, it was awful. No idea why you want another go. But I decided, on the off chance, that I should, um, get better.”

“Fuck,” Michael murmurs. “It’s like talking to myself.”

Ryan looks like he’s about to rush on with further reasons as to why them starting a clandestine relationship would be a terrible idea, but seems to take in what Michael said and stops himself. “I... what?” he asks.

Michael fights the urge to step closer, choosing instead to just speak quietly. “I did that,” he explains. “I mean... it was different for me. I knew you’d been with other people – like, before you told me you hadn’t been with a guy – and, uh, I guess I thought of it as sex ed. Being prepared. I didn’t want to be terrible. I wanted to be ready for you.”

Ryan stares at him, unable to speak and, for the first time, Michael realises that his approach went against the grain of what most people believe.

“Shit,” he laughs nervously. “What a fucking slut. Most people save themselves for the one they want, and there I went offering it up to pretty much any guy who would...”

“It’s a good job you did,” Ryan replies quietly. “I was absolutely horrendous, can you imagine how bad it would’ve been if you hadn’t known what you were doing either?”

His thoughts break the tension and both of them start laughing so hard that they cry. When he can finally breathe well enough to speak, Michael has realised something else.

“Would you believe me if I told you it wasn’t the worst I’ve ever had?” he asks Ryan.

Ryan shakes his head ruefully. “Dude, if you’ve had worse than that, then I feel so sorry for you.”

Michael looks appalled and Ryan quickly continues, realising what he’s insinuated. “I think about it all the time. How you knew where I was at, how you tried so hard to make it better,” he shakes his head again. “But I was so nervous and so drunk... I just wouldn’t listen. I’m sorry.”

“I am too,” Michael tells him. “I was ready to save you the fucking around. To take it slow, show you how awesome it is. Because... it’s not the only thing, you know? I’ve been in love with you for years, but you don’t love me. And i don’t just want to fuck your brains out, Ryan.”

He pauses to check that Ryan’s still listening and shrugs. “I mean, I’m totally capable of doing that, by the way, but that also wasn’t actually where I wanted us to start.”

Ryan inches closer and asks softly, “And where did you want us to start?”

Michael shakes his head. “Not here either,” he says. He moves closer to Ryan and carefully takes the other man’s hand, not making eye contact and blushing a little. “It’s a little like this. But... I couldn’t make my mind up, whether to take you to a movie in Baltimore, at the theatre where all of my classmates had their first dates back in high school... or to have you round to my place, ask my Mom how to cook something awesome then marathon like, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles or something on my couch.”

He blushes again and, feeling Ryan’s thumb flick over the back of his hand, finds the courage to look up. “Is that lame?” Michael asks, biting his lip.

Ryan shakes his head, apparently unable to speak again.

“I mean,” Michael babbles on, “on the one hand, I didn’t want it to be all teenage Michael dates adult Ryan, but I wanted to give a kind of nod to...”

Michael’s speech is broken off by Ryan’s other hand reaching up to cradle his jaw and bring Michael’s mouth down to his own for a kiss. It’s closed and chaste, but soft and full of meaning. Everything that their first kiss in a Beijing back alley wasn’t, but that Michael had willed it to be for ten years.

“...where it all began for me,” Michael finishes dazedly, when Ryan pulls away.

The older man nods and clears his throat. “If,” he says quietly and firmly, “we do start seeing each other, we have to be so, so careful.”

Michael begins to nod frantically, his lungs failing him temporarily.

Ryan puts his coach voice on when he speaks again. “I mean it, man,” he implores. “No fucking about with, like, vague hints to people or anything. Because you did a great job of throwing Gregg and Bob off – like, they didn’t even mention it to me – but they’re not stupid. And Clary knows for sure. So... fuck it’ll be awful in a lot of ways. I don’t want to be closeted, okay? But you need to understand.”

“I...” Michael’s mind is racing at the thought of being on the brink of his long-held dream becoming a reality. He feels uncertain, and doesn’t want to lie to Ryan but also doesn’t want to ruin the realisation of his fantasy.

“I mean,” Ryan continues, filling the silence, “it’s going to be difficult for other reasons too. Like the distance. Our schedules. You know? And on top of trying to be a couple, we’re trying to do that in secret. From several states away. With busy careers.”

“The thing is, Ry,” Michael says carefully, “when _do_ we get to tell people? Like, how is it better for us to go public the moment I retire? Doesn’t that look just as bad? That newspaper, like, ran those pictures...” he trails off, shaking his head.

“Can we just, like, wait and see?” Ryan falters. “I mean, we wouldn’t run off and tell our families after our first date anyway.”

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Michael asks. “Whatever it is, I can take it.”

Ryan swallows and looks away.

“If it’s that your family don’t know that you’re gay or... whatever, that’s fine,” Michael offers. He shrugs adding, “Wouldn’t be the first time. And I never had a big, like, conversation about it with my family. So maybe yours just... know, too.”

“It’s not...” Ryan starts.

“Is it the kid thing?” Michael persists. “Because, yeah, I don’t want them for a while. But I do see myself being a Dad. Gay guys can have babies, you know. And fuck knows I can bankroll that: whether you want to buy some Nepalese kid or make our own in a lab, we can do that.”

Ryan still looks uncertain and Michael panics. “Do you want some sort of contract? Like a written guarantee that, if for some reason we don’t make it, I’ll release a statement or put up a billboard or do fucking Oprah and say that it was all me and you’re not a pervert who grooms his athletes?”

He finally stops and stares at Ryan expectantly.

“It’s a lot of pressure,” Ryan says quietly. “You’ve been waiting so long...”

“That stops here and now,” Michael tells him. “We do this, we’re equals. We both work at it. I don’t throw my waiting game in your face, you stop telling me how much your career matters. I got it. I want us to be happy. That’s my goal here, not throwing you under the bus.”

Ryan nods slowly. Michael holds his breath, waiting for the other man to speak. Instead, he has to watch as Ryan pulls out his phone, scrolls through and dials a number.

“Hi,” he says into the phone. “I’d like two large pizzas, one with half barbecue supreme, half meat feast, one with half pepperoni and half Hawaiian with mushrooms,” he pauses and glances up at Michael, “that still your thing?”

Michael nods. Ryan goes back to his call but Michael tunes out the rest, daring instead to believe that this could well be their first date.

Ryan hangs up. “I don’t have any Turtles,” he says. “Sorry MP. But I do,” he disappears briefly into the next room, returning with a video game box and handing it to Michael, “have this.”

Michael smiles, realising it’s a current version of Mario Kart. “I feel like our kids should be called Mario and Luigi in honour of this,” he laughs.

Ryan rolls his eyes. “That,” he says, “is an argument we can have in the future. For now, I’ve got beer. And there’s no way you’ll make it home for morning practice, so I’ll let you fight that out with your own coach.”

Michael nods. “This looks good. Pizza and beer sounds even better. A flight home in the morning sounds... necessary, if unpleasant.”

“Good,” Ryan smiles. “I’ll beat your ass before the pizzas arrive.”

Michael snorts. “You have a job these days. I could take you down with one hand.”

“Big talk, MP,” Ryan grins. “Can’t wait to prove you wrong.”

*

The video game contest isn’t even close. Years of muscle memory come into play and Michael wins by a mile. He’s slightly disappointed that he doesn’t have to play dirty, but also glad to have a controller in his hands to prevent himself from going wild and groping Ryan. After everything that’s been said, Michael wants to try and take the physical side of their relationship slower, so he finds the game useful.

The arrival of dinner saves Ryan from being beaten again and he quickly gets up to accept the delivery. Michael takes the opportunity to have a bathroom break, grabbing two beers from the fridge on his way back to the couch.

Michael watches as Ryan sets the pizza boxes out on the coffee table. Various things occur to him as he does so, and he bites his lip, trying to figure out which question to lead with.

“Is this weird for you?” he eventually blurts out.

Ryan looks up from what he’s doing and reads Michael’s expression remarkably quickly. He leans back next to Michael and bumps their knees together. “This is about me once upon a time being more likely to be your brother-in-law than boyfriend, isn’t it?” Ryan asks.

Michael nods in response.

“It’s certainly unique,” Ryan smiles. “Like, I don’t make a habit of dating ex-girlfriends’ younger brothers. But... dude, we’ve bumped uglies already. And yeah, I’ve had plenty of one night stands before. But I know your last name and your favourite pizza topping and how your Mom takes her coffee. I know this isn’t how you imagined our first date. That doesn’t mean it’s weird.”

There’s a pause and Ryan seems to realise something. “Did Hilary ever tell you how we met?”

Michael shakes his head. “Um. Actually. Probably did. But I wouldn’t have listened. I was too busy thinking about how I wished I were her.”

“Okay, well, I bet she tells it differently – painting me as worse, actually – but here’s the story,” Ryan smiles. “She turns up every other day for a fortnight for free swim after morning practice is over. The other guys think she’s hot, I think – don’t get all brotherly on me for this, it’s a long time ago – that she’s okay, but decide to nail her to piss them off.”

Michael winces and puts his head in his hands. “I know, I’m sorry,” Ryan says. “I’d offer to let you fuck one of my sisters to even it out, but I don’t think you’d want to, I’d be jealous and they’re both married.”

Michael groans and reaches for a slice of pizza. “Does this story end?”

“Yes,” Ryan nods. “So anyway. Your sister doesn’t party. Which basically means I need to figure out a brand new strategy. Being the super-intelligent being that I am, I figure out which book she carries most and ask her one day if she’d like a study buddy for Spanish...”

Michael rolls his eyes, finishing his first slice of pizza and moving on to the second.

“I know,” Ryan laughs. “Believe me, it gets worse.” He grabs his own slice of pizza and eats as he talks. “She replies in what I assume is Spanish. I look totally blank, and she comes back with, ‘Wow, if you think German is Spanish, you really do need help.’ My friends fall about laughing, and I style it out by admitting that I don’t take Spanish but that I’m going to a totally awesome party that night and would she like me to pick her up at nine?”

“Wow,” Michael blinks. “Not sure if that’s better or worse than us kissing in some Beijing alley outside a club.”

Ryan winces and grabs another slice of pizza. “Would you be offended if I said I’d like to forget about that?” he asks. “I’m sure I’ll look back on it fondly someday. When I’ve cancelled out the bad sex with good.”

“Deal,” Michael laughs. “Which I guess means we have to resort to more traditional first date tactics.”

“Okay,” Ryan nods, taking a pull on his beer. He puts the bottle down and holds out his hand. “Hi, I’m Ryan.”

“Michael,” Michael replies, shaking Ryan’s hand.

“Nice to meet you, Michael,” Ryan smiles. “So, uh, what do you do?”

Michael considers lying to maintain the role play, but figures he may be able to get answers to some of his other questions if he proceeds normally. “I’m a swimmer. How about you?”

“No way! I’m a swim coach.”

Michael winces, unable to get Bob’s shouting out of his head. “Damn,” he mutters.

Ryan reflexively reaches down and squeezes Michael’s knee reassuringly. “Hey,” he murmurs. “Let’s steer clear of shop talk, hmm?”

Michael blushes and nods. “Yeah... that was a really shitty way of trying to ask something I’ve wondered for a while.”

“So just ask,” Ryan shrugs, not moving his hand. “As discussed, we’ve been there and done that on the embarrassing front.”

“Yeah,” Michael swallows, trying to focus on his question and not the warmth of Ryan’s hand. “Why’d you become a coach? Like... I love swimming. But I can’t think of a worse job than coaching.”

“For yourself, maybe,” Ryan smiles. “I... well, it’s lots of things. At first, it was because I had nothing else to do. I failed as an athlete...”

Michael tries to butt in and Ryan holds a hand up. “Shut up, this isn’t a pity party, there’s a happy ending,” Ryan continues. “I didn’t know what else to do. So I started helping Gregg and... well, it’s corny, but I realised I could make a difference. And I was good at it, so I carried on. Went back to school part-time to do some sports psych training, because I figured it’d help and I’d read about Bob saying his background in that...”

Michael raises an eyebrow at the mention of his coach.

“Oh, I’m not trying to be Bob,” Ryan tells him. “Or Gregg. Or my Dad. Or anyone else. I pick and choose bits of what I think other people do well and add my own slant and... it’s going okay so far.”

“I didn’t realise...” Michael trails off lamely.

“Why would you?” Ryan asks. “I don’t mind. I played the fool for years, I have to expect that some people will always believe that. But the people who matter don’t. I have ambitions, I’m just fairly quiet about them. I know you understand that.”

Michael nods. “Yeah, I do.”

“I’m happy at the moment in my job,” Ryan tells him. “It might take a while, but you’ll find something that makes you happy when you retire too. Whenever you’re ready.”

They both take another slice of pizza and Ryan continues musing. “I won’t lie: it’s scary. But you have more resources than I did, a good team. You’ll be fine.”

“I try not to think about it,” Michael says quietly. “But mostly I fail. Like... before Beijing, I was so focused, and I felt like I was swimming for the peak, working really hard. And I still have goals, but...”

“I wondered what that was like,” Ryan nods. “Achieving more than most people can dream of by the age of twenty-three.” He shakes his head. “No wonder you’ve lost focus.”

Michael snaps round to look at him. “Are people talking about me?”

Ryan raises an eyebrow. “Dude. You’re Michael Phelps. Perez fucking Hilton talks about you these days. But if what you mean is to ask if I’m participating in the idle swim community gossip, the answer’s no. I just call it as I see it. You were way off in Rome, but it’s easy to see why. You have so much other stuff going on. My head would be all over the place too.”

“I just...” Michael tries to explain, “wanted to disappear. It was the stuff with you and the other pressure... I was so bored of just swimming but then I started doing other things and got pulled all sorts of ways and... sometimes it’s too much. I still want to do it, still want to push swimming forward. But it’s harder than I thought to be the face of that.”

“Eight gold medals hard?” Ryan smiles wryly.

“Worse,” Michael groans. “The medals live in boxes in the back of a closet and don’t take my picture or ask me awkward questions or try and catch me out.”

They sit quietly for a couple of minutes until Ryan laughs. “Man, we suck at not talking shop.”

Michael laughs too. “Fuck, this is turning into a terrible first date. We have a disastrous attempt at sex, then we don’t speak, now we sit on the couch eating pizza and moaning about our lives.”

“I don’t know about you,” Ryan says, “but I think it’s because I’m preoccupied.”

“By what?” Michael asks. As soon as the question’s out of his mouth and he turns to look at Ryan, he thinks he already knows the answer. Michael’s mind races, trying to figure out how he feels about the rule he’d made for himself imminently being broken. Before he can come to a firm conclusion, Ryan leans in and kisses him, wrapping a hand around Michael’s neck and pulling him close. 

Michael sinks into the kiss with a soft moan, placing a hand on Ryan’s waist and shifting closer. Ryan’s tongue slips into his mouth and Michael gets temporarily lost in the sensation, unaware of exactly what he’s doing in response, but when whatever his hands and body are doing of their own accord elicits a groan and a shudder from Ryan, Michael comes back to earth and remembers his previous idea of taking things slowly.

Michael pulls away carefully, frantically trying to figure out how to handle this. Before he can speak, Ryan grabs his hand and murmurs, “Don’t.”

Michael looks up at Ryan and instantly wishes he hadn’t. He can feel his resolve disappearing quickly having taken in the look in Ryan’s eye – something that hadn’t been there a year ago, a kind of lustful desperation. “Ryan...” he tries, looking away again.

“No,” Ryan says firmly. “Don’t do this. Don’t tell me that you waited this long, then flew up here, skipping two practices, talked me into this whole thing and sat through the worst conversations anyone could bring up on a first date to then insist on separate bedrooms or some bullshit.”

Michael sighs and Ryan ploughs on. “Like, obviously I can’t force you. So if you’re really gonna tell me that you don’t... whatever, tonight. Then I’ll respect that. But I just... it’s different this time. It’s not just about wanting to get off, I know I want you. So why wait? Because, really, who knows when we’ll be able to see each other again?”

Michael sits quietly for a moment, letting Ryan’s words sink in. “Do you mean that?” he asks softly, looking up at the older man again.

“Which bit?” Ryan replies, a little confused.

“I’ve waited a really long time to hear that. And you never said it before.”

Ryan blinks. “I, uh, you’re gonna have to help me out. Because I’m pretty sure all of what I just said was new.”

“The bit where you told me what you want,” Michael presses, aware of how needy he sounds, but not giving a fuck. He’s waited a long time, he figures that he’s entitled to make up for lost time.

Ryan nods, shifting closer. He lets go of Michael’s hand and runs his palm up Michael’s thigh. Ryan leans in and kisses the junction of Michael’s shoulder and neck, murmuring against the younger man’s skin. “You,” he tells him. “You’re what I want.”

A small smile of satisfaction creeps across Michael’s lips and he tilts Ryan’s face upwards, meeting his lips in another kiss. “Hallelujah,” he murmurs, breathing the older man in.

“Is that a yes?” Ryan asks, peeling away from Michael to stand up, offering the swimmer his hand.

Michael takes it with a nod, allowing himself to be pulled off the couch. Ryan leads the way upstairs, Michael following closely behind. He tries to put their previous liaison out of his mind, knowing that if he walks into Ryan’s bedroom thinking about what’s happened before, it’s unlikely to go any better on the second attempt. He focuses instead on the fact that he’s made it, he’s here with Ryan and that Ryan’s agreed to give some sort of genuine relationship a try.

Ryan pauses at the bedroom door and Michael feels a new tension run through the older man. He squeezes Ryan’s hand and smiles reassuringly. “You need a minute to tidy up or something?” Michael jokes.

Ryan shakes his head, tugging Michael away from the door. Michael regrets his joke, realising that Ryan’s anxiety has returned. “You know,” he says quietly, “we don’t have to.”

“I want to, MP,” Ryan replies quickly. “I really do.” He kisses him again to illustrate his point, stroking Michael’s cheek and pressing their bodies together.

Michael leans into the kiss and reminds himself of everything they’ve discussed and where they’re hopefully going. He chooses in that moment to trust Ryan’s decision and find a way to guide them through, taking the second chance to start them out on the right foot.

“Okay,” he nods. He pauses, breathing Ryan in. “I know things are different this time...”

Ryan cuts in. “I want to do it your way,” Ryan confirms, pre-empting Michael’s suggestion.

“Good,” Michael smiles, pulling him back towards the bedroom. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Well,” Ryan follows, staying close to Michael and leaning in to kiss him again, “I’m already a fan of this so...”

Michael laughs, “Oh, come on now.” He reaches behind Ryan and grabs the hem of the older man’s sweater, pulling it upwards and over Ryan’s head. “You haven’t forgotten that you’re talking to the President of the Ryan Lochte’s Abs Fan Club?”

Ryan pouts, “Just my abs?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Not gonna work,” he murmurs, removing Ryan’s t-shirt and discarding it quickly in favour of running his fingertips across Ryan’s torso. “You don’t need to fish for compliments. Have a little patience and you’ll get more than enough.”

Ryan makes a noise of appreciation – Michael’s not sure whether it’s for what he’s said or what he’s doing – and watches Michael’s hands move across his skin. “Given that it’s the fall here in Michigan,” Michael remarks, “you’re looking pretty tanned, Lochte.” His fingers continue to trace patterns on Ryan’s body, meandering across his abs and around to his back.

Ryan swallows before responding. “I, uh, came back from Rome via Florida,” he replies. “Was starting to look like a ghost, my family barely recognised me.”

Michael smiles. “So does that mean there’s a line for me to check out?”

“Um. Maybe? Nothing like it used to be. For some reason, my Mom doesn’t approve of me wearing a Speedo around my nieces and nephews.”

Michael frowns, moving his hands down to undo Ryan’s pants. “I think your Mom and I might need to have a word.”

“Dude, knowing that you’re thinking about my Mom right now is not doing anything to help me get in the mood here.”

“You brought her up,” Michael reminds him, kissing Ryan as he pushes the older man’s pants down. Michael leans back when Ryan’s clothes hit the floor, taking in Ryan’s nearly-naked appearance. He hooks his finger into the waistband of Ryan’s underwear and pulls them down on one hip, comparing the skin.

“Impressive,” Michael nods approvingly.

Ryan shivers. “I’m, like, feeling a bit lonely here.”

Michael spreads his arms. “Have at it. Definitely not stopping you.”

Ryan raises an eyebrow but reaches out and pulls Michael’s hoodie over his head, inadvertently taking his t-shirt with it. He lets out a low whistle when Michael’s body is revealed. “I keep forgetting,” he murmurs, “that you look like this now. So fucking distracting, man. I’m glad I don’t swim anymore and I’m even more glad that I’m not your coach.”

“Give it a little longer and you’ll be even more impressed, it’s gonna get better than this,” Michael promises.

Ryan shakes his head, undoing Michael’s jeans. “I like that attitude,” Ryan tells him, tugging Michael’s pants down. He stares at Michael’s body again, checking him out more thoroughly. Michael stays still for a moment, watching Ryan with a smile and already far more satisfied than he was with their night in Beijing.

When Ryan finally pulls his gaze back up to Michael’s face, the younger man smiles and gestures to the bed. “Shall we?”

Ryan nods, taking Michael’s hand and climbing onto the bed with him. Michael lies down on his side and pulls Ryan over next to him so that they’re facing each other. He skims his hand up and down Ryan’s arm, taking a moment to decide exactly what to do next.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you assumed I had this all figured out already,” Michael murmurs. “I mean, given that we both know how long I’ve been thinking about this. But I guess I’ve thought about it too much. Because I kinda don’t know where to start.”

Ryan blushes a little and leans over to kiss Michael softly. “Well,” he swallows, “I think my message to you would be not to worry about rushing through your entire list in one night. Because I think it’s safe to say this isn’t a one-off.”

Michael grins. “Thank fuck for that, I was getting worried about fitting everything in.” He moves his hand to Ryan’s waist and squeezes gently. “As there’s no rush... I’ll just see what happens. That okay?”

Ryan nods and Michael kisses him again, rubbing his thumb over the skin above Ryan’s waistband with more purpose. He feels Ryan twitch beneath his hand as he moves it steadily along the top of the fabric and down to cup Ryan’s dick in his palm. Michael watches Ryan’s face carefully, the older man’s eyes flickering shut and his head tilting back slightly, welcoming Michael’s touch. Ryan issues a loud groan and Michael pauses, alarmed.

The older man’s eyes open and he fixes Michael with a heated gaze. “I get what you’re trying to do,” he says. “But you don’t have to crawl along like this. Unless, uh, you want to. I can take a bit more pace, MP,” Ryan smiles, reaching down to divest himself of his underwear. “You gonna show me a good time or not?”

Michael swallows and nods, now thoroughly distracted by Ryan’s dick and his desire to suck it. So he pushes Ryan onto his back, scoots down the bed and, without further preamble, takes hold of the base and wraps his lips around the head. Ryan’s hand is tangled in Michael’s hair a moment later, fingers flexing against Michael’s scalp. The pressure sends a jolt of pleasure straight to Michael’s dick, causing him to moan around Ryan as he takes him in further.

Ryan himself moans and shifts on the bed, writhing until his thighs are over Michael’s shoulders, allowing Michael to snake his arms around to grip onto Ryan’s hips. Michael can feel Ryan quivering beneath his hands, and the older man increases his grip on Michael’s hair, driving further into his mouth. Michael squeezes Ryan’s hip in response, opening his eyes to glance up at the other man.

Ryan lifts his head and gasps out a, “Sorry, too good.”

Michael pulls off briefly, reminded of something in this moment. “Damn right you owe me an apology.”

“What for?” Ryan whines, bucking his hips as Michael replaces his mouth with his hand.

“Cutting your hair,” Michael tells him. “I got a lot of spank bank material out of that, you know.”

“I had to grow up sometime,” Ryan laments. He rubs his hand around Michael’s jaw, up his neck and into his hair. “If you could see the state of yours right now, you wouldn’t worry about having less to play with. Plenty of mess to be made with what’s left. I still wake up with some pretty good bed head.”

“Hmm,” Michael smiles. “We’ll see.” He ducks back down, sinking back onto Ryan and eliciting a groan from the other man. Michael works Ryan’s dick steadily, figuring out what draws the best noises and movements out of him. He builds in a combination of touches, running his fingers over Ryan’s belly, hips, thighs and balls, revelling in the fact that he’s rendering Ryan almost completely incoherent in the process.

As his own dick throbs painfully with neglect, Michael works his way around to Ryan’s ass, tracing around the entrance with barely-concealed hunger. 

He’s brought back down to earth in a rush when Ryan lets out a whining, “Noooo.” Michael jerks away sharply, hands flying away from Ryan’s body as if it’s on fire.

“No?” he clarifies.

It’s only from sitting up and leaning back that he notices exactly how worked up Ryan is, sprawled on the bed sweaty and panting, unable to speak for a good minute. “I can’t... not tonight, not all at once. One or the other, dude. Like, that is becoming the most spectacular head I’ve ever gotten. But if you want to fuck me...” Ryan pants.

Michael pulls his underwear off quickly, nodding. “Hell yes,” he rasps.

“Right, okay,” Ryan scrubs a hand across his face and tries to sit up. “Fuck it. That drawer,” he points, unable to marshal his limbs to help Michael out.

Michael scrambles over as directed and grabs what he needs from the drawer, quickly returning to his position between Ryan’s legs. Michael rubs Ryan’s hip a little distractedly as he works the cap off the lube and slicks his fingers. He glances up, concerned, when he hears a whispered, “Shit” fall from Ryan’s lips.

“You okay?” Michael asks, shifting his weight to balance better on the bed.

“I...” Ryan fails to articulate his thoughts, but pushes himself upright and wraps his legs around Michael’s waist. He kisses Michael slowly, rolling his tongue with Michael’s, pressing their bodies tightly together.

When Ryan pulls away, he shakes his head, looking down. “I can’t believe I didn’t think I wanted this. Before. Like, why did I think I didn’t want to look at you?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Michael murmurs. “We’re here now.” He leans forward, tilting Ryan backwards to lie him back down.

Ryan presses a hand firmly against Michael’s chest. “Hang on. Can’t we... like this?”

Michael pauses, Ryan dipped partially backwards and considers the request. “Uh. I guess? It’ll be...”

“Careful how you phrase that,” Ryan warns. “I’m older than you, but not that old. I haven’t totally let myself go.” He pushes against Michael, sitting upright again, wrapped around the younger man where he kneels on the bed.

“So I see,” Michael murmurs, running his hands over Ryan’s muscular thighs. “You’re not a fan of the easy way, are you?”

“Takes one to know one,” Ryan replies, to which Michael nods. Ryan tilts his hips towards Michael in an encouraging manner, and the younger man reaches around to support Ryan with one arm as he slides a finger inside him.

Ryan tilts his head back with a groan, leaning against Michael to keep them upright. “Fuck yes,” Ryan moans, moving with Michael’s hand. Once they have the balance and rhythm figured out, Ryan drags his hand down Michael’s body, slowly wrapping it around the younger man’s dick.

Ryan settles his strokes into a slow pattern, as if committing the weight and feel of Michael to memory. He leans in for a kiss as he works his hand, murmuring against Michael’s lips, “Now I’m wondering what it tastes like.”

Michael moans and catches Ryan’s lower lip between his teeth. “Later,” he insists. “You can definitely find out.”

Ryan nods and shifts his hips as Michael pushes another finger into him, stretching Ryan carefully. Ryan’s grip on Michael tightens and his movements speed up. Michael kisses his collarbone and murmurs, “You like that?”

“Yeah,” Ryan groans, arching his back and pushing his hips down against Michael’s hand again. “’s good... ‘m ready.”

“Glad one of us is,” Michael smiles, glancing pointedly down at himself. Ryan comes to a little and follows Michael’s gaze, reminded that both of the other man’s hands are occupied, and steps in. He grabs the condom next to them and rolls it onto Michael’s dick before pulling away from the younger man’s fingers to line himself up.

Michael holds still as Ryan wraps his arms around his shoulders and sinks onto him with a groan, eyes closed, biting his lip. The sight of Ryan and the feel of his body pressed close almost does for Michael and he has to use every ounce of focus he has to stay grounded and controlled. Ryan starts to move slowly, cautiously, and lets out regular moans along with the occasional curse to convey his pleasure.

Michael’s head spins as Ryan picks up the pace and he closes his eyes for just a second to try and re-group, but it has the opposite effect. Michael sways dangerously, leaving Ryan to catch him, strong arms quickly wrapping around his body to support him, which really doesn’t help matters.

“Here,” Ryan murmurs, shifting his legs and using his weight to reposition them. Before he’s really aware of what’s happening, Michael finds himself laid out across the bed, Ryan straddling his hips and riding his dick like a pro.

Michael moans loudly at the sight of Ryan above him, one hand pressed against his belly to balance and the other closed firmly around his own dick, stroking quickly. Michael blinks, wondering how on earth this can be real, and not sure that he dares believe it will happen again. Ryan rocks his hips steadily, periodically enveloping Michael’s dick in the most glorious tight heat he has ever experienced.

Once he’s worked himself into a decent pattern, Ryan glances down and catches Michael’s eye, managing to give him a grin. Michael’s sure that, if Ryan had a third hand, he’d be treating himself to a fist pump at this point. Instead, he smirks at Michael and grits out, “Enjoying yourself, MP?”

Michael manages what he hopes is an eyebrow raise but could for all he knows be some horrendous half-face twitch. Ryan’s bright laugh ringing out above him indicates that it could be the latter, and he gathers his wits to regain some control of the situation.

Catching Ryan off guard, Michael clasps his arms around the older man’s waist and flips them over without withdrawing his dick. Michael plants his hands either side of Ryan, holding himself up and breathing hard from the exertion. He ducks to smatter kisses across Ryan’s shoulders, punctuating each press of lips against skin with a firm thrust which makes Ryan cry out his name.

“Fuck yes, I am,” he murmurs, working up to a much faster pace, one which makes Ryan’s chest flush and back arch. Feeling the other man shudder and tense beneath him, Michael pulls back to watch Ryan’s face intently.

Ryan wraps his legs around Michael again, arching his back and wrapping a hand around his dick. “Fuck dude,” he breathes. “Close.”

“Yeah?” Michael groans, speeding up as Ryan tightens around him. Ryan nods frantically, biting his lip, and the sight is enough for Michael. The climax hits him in a powerful wave, finishing with a shudder. Michael presses his mouth to Ryan’s in a bruising kiss as the older man continues to jack himself off, but as Michael recovers himself, he bats Ryan’s hand away.

He pulls out, eliciting a whine from Ryan as Michael appears to back away. The whine turns to a grateful moan when Ryan’s hand is replaced with Michael’s mouth. He’s barely opened his throat and taken Ryan all the way in before the Floridian’s hips stutter, giving Michael just enough time to open his eyes and watch Ryan’s face as he comes in his mouth.

When Ryan opens his eyes and smiles at Michael, lazy and blissed out, Michael forgets all of the waiting and the heartache and the teasing he went through to get to this point. Just as the euphoria of a win he’s worked towards for years temporarily eclipses the pain and exhaustion his body feels, Ryan’s smile in that moment – the one that’s just for him and what they’ve just done – is the only thing Michael needs in order to know that it was worth chasing.

*

A strange noise wakes Michael up in what feels like the middle of the night. He lifts his head from the pillow groggily, trying to establish what it is. The room is pitch black and he feels unsettled, unsure of where he is in the haze of being woken at a completely random time.

A groan issues from next to him and the noise stops. Michael smiles sleepily to himself, remembering where he is and why. He rolls over onto his back and reaches one arm out to draw Ryan over, pulling the other man half onto his chest.

Ryan starts to doze back off against him, but now that Michael’s awake, his brain is starting to switch on and he takes note of his surroundings. Ryan’s body shifts against his own, breathing settling down, and Michael stares at the ceiling, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. He relaxes beneath Ryan, his hand working into a slow caress back and forth on the forearm that Ryan has slung around his body.

Ryan’s alarm rings again and the older man grunts. Michael reaches out with his free hand to turn it off, wrapping the hand around the back of Ryan’s head when he’s done. He squeezes Ryan, trying to wake him up gently. Ryan groans in response, pressing his face into Michael’s skin in an attempt to shut the world out.

Michael laughs softly and murmurs, “I’d wake you up with a kiss, but you’re kinda making it difficult. I’m not quite that bendy.” His voice rasps with the dregs of sleep, barely warming up, but the house is silent and Ryan’s pressed close, so he knows the other man has heard.

Ryan shuffles against him, sliding up Michael’s body and pushing his face forwards. Michael laughs again but follows through on his promise and presses his lips to Ryan’s softly. “How do you cope on average mornings, dude?” he asks when Ryan runs out of steam and settles back against his body.

Ryan mutters something incoherent in response and Michael realises that the conversation could be staying one-sided for a while. “Maybe you should get a dog or something, so that you have some company.”

Ryan seems to break through into a higher level of consciousness and responds to Michael’s suggestion. “Do you sleep with yours then?” he asks softly. “’m not sure if that’s gross or cute.”

Michael smiles and answers with a shrug, “Herman and I sleep together, yeah. But we’re strictly bros, no homo.” He grins down at Ryan who rolls his eyes.

“Yeah right,” he mutters. “No homo last night whatsoever.”

“What kind of dog are you getting?” Michael asks, returning to the original topic.

“I’m not,” Ryan replies. “I’m away a lot, I work long hours... I don’t think it’d be fair to a dog.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “And I’m never away and don’t spend long periods away from the house during the day on a regular basis.”

“It’s different, you have your family around to look after Herman when you’re gone.”

“Well there are, like, dog vacation places. Those things are normally like fucking palaces, doggy heaven. Your dog might even find a special friend there.”

“You’ve gone from imagining me with a dog to marrying said imaginary dog off,” Ryan shakes his head with a smile. “Four thirty in the morning is clearly an awesome thinking time for you.”

“It’s four thirty?” Michael groans. “No wonder people hate swimming for you if they’re up this early for practice.”

Ryan shakes his head. “It’s just me who’s up this early. I go in before the athletes to get my workout in.”

Michael unwinds his arms from around Ryan, spreading his hands. “Oh, don’t let me stop you. You must be running pretty late by now.”

“Skipping one workout won’t kill me,” Ryan tells him, putting his head back down and tracing his fingers across Michael’s stomach lazily.

Michael laughs again. “Things you never think you’ll hear a coach say.”

“Don’t tell the team,” Ryan insists. “They’ll never take me seriously again.”

“They’d take you seriously if you had a big scary dog,” Michael tells him seriously.

Ryan groans. “You don’t give up, do you?”

Michael just raises an eyebrow and Ryan laughs. “Okay, stupid thing to say,” Ryan admits. He falls quiet for a minute and Michael doesn’t fill the gap this time, instead concentrating on the warmth of Ryan’s body next to his and how comfortable he feels.

“We always had dogs when I was a kid,” Ryan muses. “But never the kind I wanted.”

“Yeah?” Michael asks. “Did you want, like, a Husky or something else that’d be wildly inappropriate for Florida? I can see you with a big dog, don’t disappoint me and tell me you want a Pomeranian or some shit.”

Ryan doesn’t rise to the bait, mind still lost in thought. “I wanted a Doberman,” he tells Michael. “Everyone thinks they’re mean but... I always thought it’d just be a case of bringing one up right.”

“A Doberman,” Michael repeats. “They’re good-looking, aren’t they?”

“That too,” Ryan admits. “I figured it’d be a good way of getting girls, down at the dog park, beautiful dog, me and my charming smile. It’d be a winning combination for sure.”

“Well,” Michael pouts. “I was all set to get you a puppy but now that I know what you’re planning on using it for, I’m not so sure...”

Ryan shifts against him again, pushing up onto his arms to look at Michael properly. “That was then,” he reminds him. “That’s not what I want anymore. I’m off the market.”

Michael looks back into Ryan’s eyes and nods. “Okay. Good.”

“And I’m reconsidering my workout plan,” Ryan tells him.

“Oh?”

Ryan nods. “I figure I should be a good coach. Lead by example.” Despite what he’s saying, Ryan doesn’t make any move to getting out of bed. Michael doesn’t catch on to what he’s being told until Ryan rubs a hand across his hip, working towards his dick.

Michael swallows. “What do you normally do in the mornings?”

Ryan shrugs. “Swim mostly. Sometimes other cardio. Or a bit of weights. But usually just a bit of yardage,” he pauses to wrap his hand around Michael’s hardening dick, moving with more purpose. “A few stroke drills to keep me entertained.”

Michael moans as Ryan picks up the pace. “I’d be much keener,” he tells Ryan, “on morning practices if they all went something like this.”

Ryan leans down and kisses him with a smile. “Let’s see if I can send you to afternoon practice with a smile on your face.”

Michael reaches over and switches on the nightstand lamp. “I’m ready,” he says. “Give me a good mental image for the rest of the day.”

*

Reality hits far sooner than either of them wants it to. A comparison of diaries reveals the depressing – if expected – news that there are two weekends for the remainder of the year that they’ll be able to spend together. The dates are quickly earmarked in both of their schedules and they reluctantly say goodbye before heading their separate ways – Ryan to work and Michael to the airport.

When Michael dives into the pool that afternoon, he tries – and fails – to not think about Ryan. It’s bittersweet, when he considers it carefully: he’s finally able to move forward with the relationship he’s craved for a huge part of his life, but he’s not able to share his joy with anyone other than Ryan. Michael wonders if other people experience this feeling on a regular basis, but for him it’s new: with the few people he’s stuck with for more than a night, he’s never looked forward to hearing from them, or replayed moments with them like he does with Ryan.

Michael is surprised that he’s not more apprehensive about his relationship with Ryan, given that this is the first time he’s really been emotionally committed to someone, but he decides that this is because he has been anticipating the progression for a long time, and is excited by the idea of sharing his life with Ryan. Given that he’s worn the older man down on extending their relationship to this different level, he hopes that he can also persuade Ryan eventually that they can be open about this.

Michael’s patience and persistence have paid off so far. He’s starting to believe his assertion that the more you dream, the farther you get.

*

At a time in which Michael’s private life is increasingly scrutinised publicly, he comes to appreciate and cherish the fact that the only person who knows about his new relationship is Ryan. As he has done for most of his life, Michael spends his days in the pool and at the gym. But now, his evenings are mainly spent in communication with Ryan. They trade too many texts to count on a daily basis, as well as speaking on the phone regularly and making use of their original failsafe – video games. Ryan seems to be better at beating Michael when they’re not in the same room, which Michael finds both frustrating and amusing, and causes him to try and find new ways to distract Ryan whilst they’re playing. Prank calling Ryan’s house phone only works a few times, but Michael has greater success by texting Ryan pictures of various body parts. 

Predictably, they spend Michael’s next weekend visit to Michigan almost exclusively in Ryan’s bedroom and Michael feels like he hasn’t had such a satisfying forty-eight hours in a long time. Sunday evening and Michael’s flight home are not welcome events for Michael or Ryan, but overall they agree that they’re excited for their next weekend together the following month.

Michael’s pretty desperate to invite Ryan to Baltimore for Thanksgiving and he jokes about it one evening mid-video game battle.

“But I don’t need to meet your family,” Ryan protests.

“Well, not technically,” Michael agrees. “But, y’know, there have been some additions.”

“Doesn’t really help us stay under the radar if I do that though, does it?” Ryan counters. “And I’ve already made plans to go to Florida. If you don’t let me go, there won’t be a tan line for you to inspect the weekend after.”

Ryan has a point. “I could just invite myself to Florida,” he points out.

“Because that also wouldn’t be weird at all,” Ryan says. “And again: under the radar.”

Michael sighs frustratedly, only just realising how annoyed he is by the situation. What had started out as a playful conversation has quickly raised the point that what he’s getting and what he wants are two pretty different things. Ryan pauses the game.

“You knew this, man,” Ryan reminds him quietly.

“I know,” Michael mutters. “But it has to change at some point, and we still didn’t figure out when that’ll be.”

“You got some sort of relationship goal sheet or something?” Ryan asks. “I thought this’d be one of the pros to being with a guy, that there aren’t incessant targets to be met. You know: living together after six months, engaged after a year, married a year after that, first baby by the first anniversary, second one two years later...”

“Have I asked for any of that?” Michael counters.

“No,” Ryan sighs. “But, like, it’s been barely two months.”

“No, Ryan, it’s been ten fucking years.”

“Yeah, for you,” Ryan says firmly. “And we live, like, a thousand miles apart...”

“It’s a little over five hundred,” Michael points out. He can almost hear Ryan roll his eyes.

“Whatever,” Ryan replies. “Are you listening to me? We talked about this. There’s like... I’m in a position of authority and responsibility. Yes, we’re adults. This still won’t go down well. Seriously, what would happen if this got out? Because it’s not just my career we have to think about. The press are all up in your business about every breath you take. How many out Olympians are there? And how would that go down?”

Michael shrugs. “America seems to forgive me pretty much anything. I mean, they don’t know about the bodies in my Mom’s back yard yet...”

“Not funny,” Ryan tells him. “And arrogant, too.” Michael can hear Ryan take a gusty breath and knows that the other man wants to really lay into him, but is either too tired or too worried about the impact of a long-distance internet-based fight to start one.

“You’re not coming then,” Michael concludes. “And I’m not going to Florida.”

“Not this time,” Ryan confirms, tone softening a little. “Like, maybe we can... do you have any plans for New Years? That might be a good chance to get away together.”

Michael hums a vague agreement, reluctant to admit that Ryan’s suggestion is a good compromise, but also stung that it’s a clear indication that he doesn’t want to spend Christmas together either.

“Think about it,” Ryan suggests. “I bet there are a bunch of cool places neither of us have been to. And we’ll see each other in two weeks.”

“Yeah,” Michael nods. “See you in two weeks.” He ends the game dissatisfied with Ryan’s refusal to budge on the issue and apparent inability to see Michael’s point of view. For the first time, Michael starts to doubt Ryan, and wonder if perhaps he’s being used.

*

Two weeks later, Michael cajoles Ryan out of bed on the Sunday of his Michigan visit, under the pretence of driving out of Ann Arbor to find somewhere they hopefully won’t be caught eating together with their clothes on.

He programmes the GPS and follows the directions carefully, allowing Ryan to play DJ and pick a selection of old school rap for the stereo. They chat as Michael drives, cautiously fleshing out their New Years trip a little more, both offering ideas of destinations. Michael sadly vetoes many of Ryan’s on the grounds of him knowing there are a few sneaky photographers in those spots, and tries not to get downhearted about the fact that it’s perhaps inevitable that a holiday period is not an ideal time to hit an expensive resort which may be housing other famous people.

Fortunately, before he’s able to get too frustrated about the situation, they arrive at their destination. Once the car has come to a stop, Ryan peers at their surroundings with a frown.

“Uh, you sure this is right, MP?” Ryan asks. “I don’t see anywhere to get food.”

“We’re not getting food yet,” Michael tells him. “But we are in the right place. Come on.”

He gets out of the car and waits on the sidewalk for Ryan, who joins him and immediately complains about the cold. Michael ignores Ryan’s grumbling – though does wish he could pull him close and make the most of body heat to warm the older man up – and instead leads the way towards one of the houses on the block.

“Seriously,” Ryan pushes as Michael knocks on the door and they wait for a response. “This better not be your way of...”

Ryan stops abruptly when a chorus of barking breaks out inside the house. His eyes go wide and he slowly turns to look at Michael.

“You didn’t.”

Michael breaks into a grin and turns to greet the woman who answers the door. He holds out his hand and introduces them, following the woman inside. Michael watches Ryan when they round a corner and are faced with a pen of yapping puppies. Ryan is transfixed, like a kid in a particularly large toy store.

Michael stands close to Ryan and murmurs. “Merry Christmas.”

“Are you fucking serious?” Ryan asks in response.

Michael nods and smiles. “Yep. We can’t take it today, but they’re all up for grabs. Pick whichever one you want and you’ll be able to come and collect in January. There’s a bunch of puppy kit being delivered to your place today so... you should have everything you need waiting when we get back.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Ryan replies, still staring at the barking puppies.

“You can thank me later,” Michael offers with a grin. “How about you focus on choosing your dog for now?”

Ryan steps forward as the woman opens the gate and they enter the pen carefully. They’re immediately ambushed by most of the puppies as their mother watches warily. The woman explains to them that all of the dogs have full papers, are pure-bred Dobermans and that they’ll be ready in three weeks, but that if Ryan wants to wait a little longer he can.

Ryan crouches down, petting several of the puppies and laughing as one particularly enthusiastic dog rushes up and licks his face. “You’re it, puppy,” he decides, pulling the dog closer and making a fuss of it. He glances up at Michael, “Told you the stereotype’s wrong.”

Michael smiles, kneeling next to Ryan. “You did. And I didn’t doubt you for a second.” He holds his hand out for the puppy Ryan has chosen to sniff him. The dog yaps excitedly and pushes closer to Michael, trying to investigate his pockets.

Ryan laughs again. “Yup, definitely my boy.” He reaches over and squeezes Michael’s knee quickly. “This is really generous of you, man.”

Michael blushes a little and shrugs. “I couldn’t think of anything else obvious that you might really want so... it made sense. He’ll have to learn where he is in the pecking order of sharing your bed, though.”

Ryan smiles back. “For sure.” He turns to the dog, “You’re only allowed on the bed when Uncle Mike’s not there, got it dude?”

The puppy barks and Ryan laughs again, leaning in and letting the dog lick his face. “Can you say ‘jeah’?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “He’s a pedigree, Ry, but he’s not a parrot.”

“What else am I supposed to do in the evenings during the winter?”

“I’ve got a few ideas,” Michael offers. “But how about we discuss them later. For now, I’ll go and sort out reserving your dog. You got a name for him yet?”

Ryan considers for a second. “Not yet. But we’ll figure it out, hey buddy?” The puppy jumps up at Ryan again, interrupting their conversation. Michael leaves puppy and new owner to get to know each other as he heads off to finalise things. As he’s checking over the paperwork, Michael glances across at Ryan again. Seeing the smile on the older man’s face is all the proof Michael needs that, although it isn’t his ideal, the fact that they’ve started progressing their relationship at all is enough for Michael.

*

“Prince.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘hello’,” Ryan says. “Or even ‘hi’. Or ‘hey’. I’d actually take ‘sup’.”

“You’d call a dog Sup?”

“Oh dude. Even Kermit was a better shout than Prince. And Kermit is a terrible idea.”

“Well yours are no better!”

“I’ll get there! But at least this has given me a heads up for in case we do end up having kids. No way you’re registering any births by yourself.”

Michael pouts at the phone. “I’d be more careful if it were a kid.”

“I’m not convinced,” Ryan replies. “A name’s for life, Mike. You have to put it in context, remember that it’ll be read out at their graduation and that they’ll have to put it on job application forms and what if our kid wants to be, like, a brain surgeon or something? How would you feel if you needed a life-saving dangerous operation and the doctor walks in and introduces himself as Doctor Prince Lochte?”

“Phelps,” Michael hits back. “And I still don’t know why it’s such a big thing. I know you think your dog’s the best thing ever, but if he manages to get a degree other than one you buy him off the internet, I’ll be so stunned that I wouldn’t give a shit about him walking across the stage and being announced as Prince Phelps.”

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” Ryan demands. “I am not shouting ‘Prince’ across the dog park.”

“You’re also not going to the dog park alone.”

“It’s okay man, my Mom taught me how to cross the road. I know how to look both ways and everything, I do survive on a daily basis without you.”

“I know that. But everyone knows that dog parks are pickup joints. And your dog’s fucking beautiful, there’s no way I’m letting you go unsupervised.”

“Jealous, are we?”

Michael blushes. “Maybe,” he mumbles. “Thinking about getting a friend for Herman.”

Ryan snorts. “If Herman lives up to the reputation you give him, I don’t think he wants a friend. Herman’s a lone wolf.”

Michael looks down at the dog next to him, stroking his head. “He has me.”

“True. But I don’t think he necessarily wants a doggy friend. Especially not if you’re going to give it some lame-ass name.”

“I think he’d like someone to be the boss of.”

“He has you for that.”

There’s a pause in the conversation and Michael hears a bit of clattering in the background. “What’s going on?” he asks.

“Cooking dinner, man. You want some?”

“Sure, I’ll be right round,” Michael says sadly.

“Cheer up, it’s nearly Christmas.”

“Yeah, and we still haven’t decided where to go for New Years.”

It’s two weeks since Michael took Ryan to choose a puppy and their main topics of conversation since have been the dog’s name and where to go for New Years. They have yet to resolve either situation. 

Michael’s usual destination of choice would be somewhere hot with a good reputation for parties, like Vegas or Miami, and he knows that Ryan would get on board with a similar option. But whilst they’d both like to be somewhere with a good atmosphere and a large crowd, they also want to be somewhere they won’t be caught out. Michael had suggested that those kinds of places are, in reality, fairly anonymous, due to the amount of people there. Ryan had reminded him who he is and that everyone these days has a camera phone and that he’d quite like to kiss Michael at midnight, but not if it’ll be in the papers less than twenty-four hours into the year.

So they’d discussed the option of small, sunny and more secluded, but had decided that also carried a risk, due to the lack of crowd affording them no cover. Michael had then suggested somewhere snowy, knowing that Ryan, though keen, still hasn’t fulfilled his ambition of learning to ski or snowboard since retiring from competition. Ryan had vetoed this too, stating that he didn’t want to be cold and wouldn’t want to spend his days on the slopes alone with Michael unable to ski for fear of injury.

Michael is getting a little tired of going round in circles and the whole thing makes him want to haul Ryan up from Florida as soon as the Christmas festivities are done and hole up in his Baltimore apartment where they can’t get caught by the paparazzi kissing at midnight and the chance of either of them breaking a limb is slim. He also knows that this option provides less fun than they could have, and it’s been a while since Michael’s had a decent vacation, he’s got itchy feet.

“You know, I did have an idea about our other dilemma,” Ryan offers.

Michael sits up a little and pays attention. “Yeah?”

“Mm,” Ryan continues, a little distractedly. “You ever been to Thailand?”

“Umm... no,” Michael answers. “Isn’t it kinda... dangerous there?”

“Only if you’re stupid,” Ryan tells him. “Which we’re not.” He pauses, letting Michael soak the idea in. There’s a bit of clattering again and Ryan continues his argument. “It just hits our objectives, if you think about it. Warm. Beach. Atmospheric. Lots of people, fairly anonymous, hopefully no paps. But we wouldn’t be the only Americans there, we can blend in. And it’s meant to be a pretty cool experience: you party all night on the beach, check out the moon if there is one and then you watch the sun rise and recover.”

Michael scratches Herman’s ears, thinking about what Ryan’s suggested. “I don’t mind organising it,” Ryan offers. “I’ve got a few friends I can tap up for information, get some tips. You could just... meet me there. And then maybe we could fly home and pick up Carter and you can help me settle him in before we both have to get back to the pool.”

“Sounds... wait. Carter?”

“That’s what I’m calling the puppy.”

“Carter,” Michael tests it out. Herman lifts his head and grunts. Michael laughs. “Okay,” he tells Ryan.

“Okay to Carter or okay to Thailand?”

“Both. All of it. I’ll meet you in Thailand the day after Christmas.”

“It’ll be the day after the day after,” Ryan corrects. “They’re the other side of the line.”

“Right,” Michael blinks. It’s starting to sound like Ryan’s really thought about this, and Michael is warming up to the idea of things being taken care of for him by his boyfriend. “The day after the day after Christmas. Thailand. Let’s do it. Then we go get Carter.”

“Can’t wait,” Ryan says. Michael can hear the smile in the older man’s voice and matches it with one of his own.

*

The day after the day after Christmas, Michael meets Ryan in Thailand. They take a water taxi together to a small island and Ryan leads the way to a bungalow in a quiet part of the island. Ryan’s keen to explore their surroundings, but after almost a month apart, Michael’s just keen to re-explore Ryan. They compromise by taking a nap to re-adjust their body clocks.

It’s getting dark when Michael wakes up. He can hear from Ryan’s breathing that the older man is still in a deep sleep, but nevertheless he turns over carefully so as not to disturb him. Michael gazes at Ryan for a couple of minutes, taking in every detail of Ryan’s peaceful appearance. As they still spend so much time apart, it still hasn’t sunk in that he might at some point be able to do this daily, so Michael makes the most of the opportunity.

Ryan’s breathing stutters and Michael stays still, waiting for more movement. When Ryan seems to settle back down, Michael makes his move, sliding closer to the other man and pressing their bodies together slowly.

Michael wakes Ryan up by peeling off his clothes and making a detailed study of the older man’s body with his tongue. He’s concentrating on working the skin on Ryan’s hip when a soft moan gets his attention and he glances up to find Ryan awake and staring down at him. Michael pauses to smile at Ryan.

What Michael does next sets the tone for the next few days. They sleep and fuck, pausing to talk or brush their teeth and reluctantly putting clothes on in order to go out and stock up on food.

The island steadily gets busier around them, and when New Years Eve arrives, Michael and Ryan make their way to the beach with a swarm of other revellers. The night is warm, but they stay close together as the crowd is large. When Ryan leads the way to the vendors at the top of the beach which exist in lieu of the kind of bars Michael would recognise, he is mystified by the famous buckets available, so Ryan explains.

“You’ve gotta be careful,” Ryan advises. “They all have a lot of alcohol, ice and a mixer, but some of the mixers aren’t what we’re used to and steer clear of anything that looks even a little bit opened – spiked buckets aren’t uncommon.”

“Alright, Dad. I thought you’d want to go a little crazy,” Michael says, surprised by Ryan’s attitude. “You were right – we’re not gonna get caught out here. We never get to do this, go out together and drink. And I know you don’t do it without me in Michigan, because you don’t want to set a bad example. C’mon, Ry. Live a little. Be as young as the person you feel.” Michael punctuates the last sentence with a wink.

Ryan blushes slightly and shrugs. “I didn’t say I’d have none. Just take it easy. Loads of people get wasted on these and then miss the best part of the night. I don’t want to do that.”

“Okay,” Michael nods, selecting a bucket and paying the vendor. “Let’s share then.”

Ryan inspects the bucket and leans over to switch out the mixers, ditching the energy drinks provided for a can of Mountain Dew he finds. “Dude, I picked that for a reason,” Michael tells him, trying to swap them back.

Ryan shakes his head insistently. “I’ve done my research here, trust me,” he replies. “Those aren’t like what you get at home, some of them are pretty fucking similar to speed.”

Michael’s eyebrows shoot up. “They’re legal,” Ryan clarifies. “But, like, it can make for a less fun night.”

Michael leans over and kisses him quickly. “I’m glad you’re here,” he murmurs.

Ryan kisses him back with a smile. “Me too. Come on,” he says, taking Michael’s hand and leading him down the beach.

They find a good spot and settle together chatting and soaking up the atmosphere of the growing party. Michael lets Ryan talk, watching as the older man moves in place, gesticulating and smiling periodically. He realises how relaxing it is and how comfortable it feels, and starts to picture them doing this night after night in a back yard or on the couch, dogs dotted around them.

Michael reaches out suddenly and grabs Ryan’s hand. “Thanks,” he says, unsure of how to articulate himself beyond that.

Ryan smiles, amused. “What for this time?”

Michael blinks, considering where the statement had come from. “For choosing this place. For thinking about what would make this good. Like, if it were up to me, we’d have ended up in some generic but secluded resort. And that’s fun too, and I’m sure there’ll be a time when we’ll want that. But this, right here and right now? It’s perfect. Stupid perfect. I’m glad that I can say that I’ve done it. And I’m pleased that I’ll be saying you were here with me.”

Ryan laces their fingers together, looking down at their hands. “You’re welcome,” he replies quietly. “Thanks for coming with me.”

Michael leans over and kisses Ryan, having run out of ways to verbally express his gratitude. They stay wrapped around each other for a little while, the beach getting busier and the sun getting lower. “Shall we go and get another bucket?” Ryan asks after a while. “Better make sure we have something to toast with at midnight.”

Michael nods his agreement and they stand up, walking back up the beach to the drinks vendors hand in hand. Bucket purchased, they wander a little further down the beach, finding a new vantage point to welcome the new year.

When midnight arrives, they share a kiss. Michael thinks back to the previous years since he’d met Ryan, all beginning in the same manner – with blind hope, but little expectation. This time, he looks forward to the years to come, hoping that they’ll share many, and that eventually they’ll do so publically. But he’s content for now, stood hand in hand with Ryan, an empty bucket at their feet, awaiting the dawn in a crowd of thousands. Michael looks at the other revellers and thinks that he’s lucky to be the happiest of them all.

*

Two days later, they fly to Michigan together. The plane trip is unbearable – Michael hates flying commercial at the best of times, but this time he has a bouncing Ryan next to him for the entire journey. Ryan continues to bounce when they transfer to their car at the airport and drive to the breeder’s house – he refuses to stop at his place and dump their luggage on the way home, a decision Michael knows they’ll soon regret – to collect his puppy.

When they pick up the dog, Michael isn’t sure who is more excited between the puppy and Ryan. He’s amazed at the instant bond they share and wonders if it’s weird to feel jealous of a dog. He decides to feel pleased at buying the perfect gift on the first attempt instead, and focuses on settling Ryan and his dog in the car for the drive home.

Carter sits on Ryan’s lap the entire ride, Ryan chattering away at a hundred miles an hour to the dog about how much fun they’re going to have living together and the super comfy bed that Ryan’s bought him for when Michael stays over and all of the toys that Carter gets to check out when he arrives home. Michael glances across at his boyfriend and his new dog and gets a sudden flash of what the future might be like should they ever decide to have kids, and how it’ll be to have nine months of anticipation and build up if this is how excited Ryan gets with four weeks notice.

Ryan shows Carter into the house and Michael’s reminded of bringing Herman home for the first time. The bulldog had reluctantly wandered in and sniffed around for about a minute before groaning and plopping down in what he had assessed as being the comfiest spot. In almost three years, he’s still never made an effort to run around and check out every corner, but Carter seems ecstatic to have a new place to explore. Ryan’s concerns about Carter missing his birthplace and family prove unfounded as the puppy excitedly races through the building, throwing out the odd bark to get Ryan’s attention.

Fortunately, the puppy soon wears himself out and the trio are able to crash out on the couch. Michael turns the TV to a random movie and zones out with Ryan laid against his chest, Carter asleep on their legs.

“We should do this again,” Ryan murmurs sleepily.

“Hmm?” Michael mutters back.

“The vacation,” Ryan yawns. “Was good.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Michael promises. He fights sleep for a few minutes longer, not wanting to close his eyes and waste precious time which is rapidly running out. But the last week catches up with him and he’s soon asleep with Ryan and Carter.

*

Their lives continue in separate states, occasionally intertwining at a meet – where Michael finds it near-impossible to keep his hands and eyes away from Ryan at all times – or at Ryan’s house when Michael can escape for the occasional weekend of frantic sex and puppy entertainment.

They still talk on the phone as much as possible, still have regular game nights and Michael still goes to bed thinking of the day when all of the bullshit will be over and he can just move himself and his dog to wherever Ryan and his dog are and they can live happily ever after.

Over the summer, they go a long stretch without seeing each other and Michael’s about ready to quit swimming for the sake of their relationship and his sanity. Ryan talks him down, reminds him what he wants to achieve and that it’ll all be okay, it just needs more time. When Michael chews the conversation back over later that night, he gets frustrated again and contemplates giving up both of the loves of his life and having another lost weekend in Vegas. This time, Herman saves him, issuing a groan from the other side of the bed and bringing Michael back to earth.

He counts the days until the end of his summer run of events, thinks about the flight he has booked to Ryan’s and the plans they’ve made to actually leave the house, visit a park with Carter and go to a restaurant where they’re hoping they can avoid being spotted, and maybe seeing a movie afterwards, where Michael figures it’s normal to make out in the dark and not be seen.

The five day international meet he has to suffer through prior to that is hard going, but Michael makes it, swims well enough and gets the fuck out, arriving in Michigan as quickly as he can. He almost pounds Ryan’s door down – thinking at the same time that it’s weird that they haven’t yet traded house keys – and waits impatiently on the porch. He doesn’t hear Carter barking, and then it hits him that he never has to knock, Ryan’s always waiting for him and has the door open and his lips pressed to Michael’s before the swimmer can even pause to say hello. And then Michael realises that there was no room for his car on the drive, he had to park on the street because there was another car behind Ryan’s.

His stomach drops, wondering who the hell Ryan has in his house and whether he should hide or get mad. He has time to do neither: the front door opens and Ryan looks similarly anxious, as if he’s not sure what to do either.

“Uh, hey!” he says. Michael looks at him in a state of confusion at Ryan’s faux-surprised tone. He raises an eyebrow and Ryan gives him a pleading look, so he decides to try and go with it. “Come in,” Ryan offers.

Michael steps into the house, not sure what’s next in the script. He is almost knocked over when Carter comes flying towards him – much bigger than when Michael saw him last, which serves as a reminder for how long it’s been and how neglected his dick is – and is followed by someone who looks a little like a younger version of Ryan. Michael swallows, realising the extent of their problem.

The guy glances between them, assessing the situation with a nod. “Called it,” he says.

“Dev-,” Ryan starts, sounding panicked.

The other guy cuts him off. “Ry. This is huge. Like, we’d figured out you were seeing someone but...”

“What did you call then, if it wasn’t that it was me?” Michael asks, regaining the ability to speak.

The guy turns to him with a shrug. “That Ry’s dating a dude.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “And?” he asks. “Is there a problem?”

“Only that you didn’t share this with us,” the guy’s tone softens. “Every time we’ve seen you from, like, Christmas onwards, you’ve seemed really happy, bro. Did you think we’d be pissed?”

Michael looks at Ryan, gauging his reaction. The older man shakes his head, then suddenly remembers that he hasn’t introduced the other guy – and possibly that this move will take the heat off him – and clears his throat. “Michael, this is my brother Devon,” he says, gesturing towards the guy, who waves. “Dev, this is Michael.”

“And who is Michael?” Devon prompts.

Ryan squirms a little and Michael anticipates some sarcastic line about medals, but it doesn’t come. Ryan looks Devon straight in the eye and says, “Michael is my boyfriend.”

Michael steps towards Devon and sticks his hand out awkwardly. Devon rolls his eyes and pulls him into a hug, slapping his back. “Finally,” he says. “It all makes sense. Good to meet you, man.”

They pull apart and Michael’s head spins a little. He isn’t sure where to start with the questions he has, and wishes Ryan would just explain and offer some reassurance, but he seems just as incapable of speech.

“Seriously, dude,” Devon turns to his brother again, looking a little wounded. “Where was the memo?”

Ryan looks down, rubbing Carter’s head, and Michael feels like he should take some of the heat in order to prevent a major sibling argument. He gestures towards the living room, encouraging Devon to sit down and positioning himself on the couch next to Ryan’s brother. Ryan places himself on the smaller couch across the room, Carter hopping up to join him.

“I’m sorry he didn’t tell you,” Michael figures an apology is a good place to start. “We, uh, I guess around Christmas... it was still all pretty new. Like, we don’t live close to each other, we don’t get to see each other a whole lot...”

Devon holds a hand up, “Okay, spare me that bit. This still doesn’t explain things. Christmas was, like, months ago. We’ve seen Ry since then. He even calls sometimes.”

Michael nods. “Well... it’s a little awkward. Given Ryan’s job with the national team and... y’know.” He doesn’t want to brag, though he figures that assuming Ryan’s brother knows who he is doesn’t help matters either. “So... we’re just seeing what happens, I guess.” Michael’s clearly run out of explanations and he tries to shoot Ryan a look to indicate that it really is his turn to jump in now.

“How come you all knew I was seeing someone?” Ryan asks his brother.

Devon rolls his eyes again. “Oh, I don’t know, dude. It might’ve been that you and your phone were never more than half a foot apart and that you kept grinning at it like a doofus. Or that your mind kept wandering off places – and I mean more than usual. Just... we could tell. We know you, man. And we want to be all happy and excited for you and to make sure that whoever’s stolen your heart is taking good care of it. So it’s frustrating as fuck that you won’t let us. And totally explains why you looked almost pissed when I turned up today.”

“So this... wasn’t planned?” Michael asks, gesturing to Devon and looking at Ryan.

Ryan’s face clouds with hurt. “No! We’ve had this weekend in for months, you know I don’t make plans if I know you’re coming. Fuck you, dude.”

“Sorry,” Michael holds his hands up. “Just filling in the blanks.”

Devon cuts in again to explain. “I flew up on a whim. We didn’t see Ry for his birthday, I miss him. And I kinda was thinking of transferring up to UM so that I could see him more and shit. So I figured birds and stones. And I didn’t exactly get the greatest welcome when I got here, but I put it down to the fact that I’d burst in when he’s just got back from a meet and... apparently it’s because you were due up for some dirty weekend or something.”

“You can’t tell anyone,” Ryan blurts out.

“Why the fuck not?!” Devon asks.

“Good fucking question,” Michael mutters angrily, slumping down in his seat.

Devon cuts a glance between them. “I’m sensing tension.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Round of applause for Oprah.”

“It’s the truth,” Michael snaps. “He won’t let me tell anyone because he thinks he’ll get fired. Or ruin his reputation or something.”

“It’s a valid concern, Michael,” Ryan bites back. “The news might not have reached the Michael Phelps bubble, but there are cases of this happening in other sports and it does not go down well. For the record,” he turns to Devon now, “it has nothing to do with Michael being a guy.”

“We had our suspicions anyways,” Devon shrugs. “I mean, still not sure how Grandma’ll take it but... nobody else will care. Unless you carry on keeping it from them.”

Ryan groans. “So not what I wanted. Now I have two of you ganging up on me.”

That’s it for Michael. He stands up furiously. “I haven’t done any of that. We’ve talked about this, like, once since we started seeing each other. I’ve been a fucking angel about it since then, I’ve done it your way. But I’m sick of it. I want to tell my family, I want them to be happy for me.” He gestures to Ryan’s brother, “Do you not want this? To feel normal and included and loved? I’ve never had that, never shared a boyfriend with my family. They all think I’m a single-minded loser who’s going to die alone, crushed by the weight of gold medals because that’s all I have.”

“So what, you’re breaking up with me?” Ryan asks.

“I...” Michael rages internally at being put on the spot. Of course he doesn’t want to break up with Ryan, and he thinks Ryan knows that. It’s a challenge. But issuing an ultimatum is a shitty thing to do and could end with him just getting more hurt. “I don’t understand why we can’t share this with people we trust.”

They stare each other out for a minute, interrupted only when Devon clears his throat. “Michael needs an answer to your question, Ryan,” he points out, putting on a therapist-type voice. “Do you think you can reach a compromise?”

“And is it fair to ask your brother to keep this to himself?” Michael asks. He turns quickly to explain to Devon, “Not that I think you’ll like, run to TMZ with this or anything, dude. You seem nice.”

Devon shrugs, “It’s cool, not judging.”

“And you really think your family will be okay with it, given my history with them?” Ryan challenges Michael.

“Wait, what?” Devon cuts in.

Michael’s eyes widen, “He doesn’t know?”

“Uh,” Ryan starts, “apparently not? He’s a few years younger than you, he probably doesn’t remember Hilary.”

“Your ex, Hilary?” Devon asks from behind Michael, who raises an eyebrow.

“Apparently you’re wrong,” Michael points out, folding his arms over his chest.

“Yo, what gives?” Devon asks, throwing a pillow at Ryan, who dodges it.

Michael steps aside to allow the brothers to look at each other and calmly tells Devon, “Hilary’s my sister.”

Devon’s jaw drops and he lets out a low whistle. “Whoa. You guys are a Doctor Phil case, I’m out.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “She’s had, like, a ton of boyfriends since you guys broke up,” he reports. “Nobody is going to care.”

“You keep saying that, but I know your family,” Ryan mutters. “I think you’ve forgotten that.”

“It’s totally different!” Michael cries in exasperation. “Hilary’s the oldest, Mom’s always been more anxious about her because she does everything first.”

“Hilary’s ballsy, Mike! She’s never had a problem looking after herself, always bounces back from stuff, I don’t think your Mom knows what it’s like to worry about her,” Ryan snaps. “But you. You’re the baby. You’re golden boy. You’ve never introduced anyone to them and the three of them are so protective of you. And they think I’m straight.”

Devon snorts. “Bro, we all figured out you’re not. You think your ex hasn’t?”

“I've barely seen her since we broke up,” Ryan tells him. “How will she have any idea?”

“Girls are scary psychic like that,” Devon points out. “She probably even knows you’re playing tonsil tennis with her brother already.”

Michael and Ryan stare each other out again. “You really think it’ll be okay?” Ryan asks quietly. “I mean, that we can still keep it quiet?”

Michael sits down next to Ryan and takes his hand. “Like you said, they’re protective. They won’t sell us out.”

Ryan nods hesitantly then groans. “This is going to end in some fucked up repeat of the first time I came to Baltimore, isn’t it? I’m gonna end up coming for Thanksgiving.”

Michael considers the option. “I think that’s a good idea. I mean, everyone has to be nice to each other on Thanksgiving. The pilgrims will protect us.”

“You sure the natives won’t attack us?” Ryan asks warily.

“You can hide behind me,” Michael offers. “Given that I’m taller than you now.”

Ryan doesn’t protest and Devon begins to clap. “Yay, a happy ending! Right, time to down some beers so that I pass out tonight and don’t have to be kept awake by any funny business.”

Devon gets up and disappears into the kitchen, leaving Ryan to take the opportunity to kiss Michael. As their lips meet, Michael’s reminded of the point of his visit and moans happily. “You’re going to be extra noisy tonight, aren’t you?” he asks Ryan.

The older man nods and starts to grin. “Hell yes.”

*

It’s a week until Thanksgiving and Michael calls Ryan for their daily catch up as he’s driving to his Mom’s house for dinner. “Hey, I just want to give you a heads up about something,” he says quickly. 

“Sounds ominous,” Ryan replies warily.

“Well it’s hopefully gonna help us out,” Michael tries to sound reassuring. “I’m going to Mom’s for dinner. I want to tell her and my sisters that you’re my guest next week.”

“I... kinda wish you’d given me more than five minutes to think about this,” Ryan offers.

Michael winces. “I know, we probably should’ve talked about this before. But, like, it kinda occurred to me this afternoon and... it feels like the right thing.”

Ryan doesn’t say anything for a couple of minutes and Michael slows the car down a little, trying to buy some more time. “Is Bob going to be there next week?” Ryan eventually asks.

“I don’t know,” Michael admits. “That was sort of what was going through my head when I decided.”

“I feel like he knows,” Ryan tells Michael.

“Me too,” Michael agrees. “And if he does, he’s being really fucking good about not making a deal out of it. Given that it puts him in a bit of an awkward spot.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says quietly. He goes silent again and Michael begins to regret making this call.

“Please don’t freak out,” Michael begs. “And please don’t back out of this.”

Ryan exhales loudly. “I’m not. I’ll be there.”

“So I’ll let you know how it goes?”

“Yeah,” Ryan agrees. “Call me later.”

*

They’ve been sat at the dinner table for all of two minutes before the interrogation starts. And, naturally, it’s Hilary who kicks everything off.

“Michael,” she says, putting her silverware down. “What gives?”

Michael looks up, trying not to look guilty or anxious and failing miserably. He catches his Mom’s eye – noting the concern and worry – and feels even worse. Even so, he figures holding her gaze is easier than saying what he needs to say when looking at his sister, so he clears his throat and rips off the band aid.

“I want to tell you all about the person I’m bringing next week,” he says quietly.

Debbie nods, waiting for Michael to continue. Michael doesn’t need to look at Hilary to know that she rolls her eyes. “We all know it’s a guy, you don’t have to tiptoe around that one,” she tells him.

Michael hears a thud which tells him Whitney has kicked Hilary beneath the table, making her feelings on their sister’s attitude known.

Michael swallows and carries on just looking at their mother. “Right, well that’s one part out of the way, thanks for your help, Hil,” he says. “But we wanted you all to be prepared. Because it’s someone you all know.”

The quietness of the room suddenly hits Michael, and he feels under pressure and scrutiny in a way that he has never felt before. He wonders if this really was the best way to do this, wishing he’d just decided to text his family instead. Michael likes the faceless nature of texting, how you don’t have to tolerate the reaction of the recipient directly, and that you can ignore it if you really want to. Any second now, he’s going to have to put up with whatever they choose to throw at him.

“So who is it?” Whitney encourages. “There can’t be that many guys that we all know who you could be dating...”

Michael doesn’t mean to, but he gives the game away by glancing involuntarily at Hilary, whose jaw drops.

“Are you for real?” she asks him, holding his gaze.

Michael nods slightly and looks back at his Mom. “It’s Ryan,” he tells her.

The statement is met with more silence as the women recover themselves and process this information. Michael waits anxiously for the inevitably flurry of questions. Hilary goes first.

“Who else knows?” she asks.

“Um. Ryan’s brother. And that’s it. He’s going to tell his family soon,” Michael says. “I’m, uh, probably going to Florida for Christmas.”

“Don’t let the pig intimidate you,” Hilary advises. Michael blinks and is about to ask her a ton of questions about the Lochtes – because he has been worried about this scenario for quite some time – when Whitney jumps in with a question of her own.

“How long have you been seeing each other?”

“Uh. Define seeing?”

His sisters both raise their eyebrows and Hilary’s the one brave enough to offer clarification. “We do not want to know exactly what you get up to. But, given that you’re bringing him as your date, I assume there’s something other than R-rated activities going on between you. Meaning: you’ve kept this a secret from us and the press, but presumably there is some sort of pretence at dating?”

“We, uh,” Michael clears his throat. “A little over a year?”

“What?!” Hilary explodes.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Whitney is confused.

Debbie holds her hand up to stop the shouting. “Michael,” she says calmly. “Are you happy?”

Michael nods quickly. “Then that’s all that matters,” she tells them all. “I’m glad you’re sharing this with us. Ryan will be made to feel welcome as your guest.”

“Thanks, Mom,” he says quietly, feeling relieved.

Hilary kicks him under the table. “I still want an answer to Whit’s question,” she demands.

Michael rolls his eyes, recovering his normal attitude now that the secret is out. “Given your reactions, why do you think?”

“I’m happy for you,” Whitney shrugs. “I’m just curious.”

“There are a few reasons,” Michael admits vaguely. “I’d kinda... rather not discuss them without him here. It doesn’t seem fair, he should be able to tell you himself. Part of it’s just... we wanted to keep it a little low key at first, see how things went.”

“He’s not gonna admit it, Whit, you can give up,” Hilary tells their sister. “I think we can all read between the lines, Michael: Ryan’s my ex, he’s older than you, he’s a national team coach... the whole thing is all kinds of awkward.”

Michael feels himself getting hot and angry, and fortunately Debbie steps in again. “Dinner is getting cold, girls. Let’s eat. Michael’s said what he needed to say. I’d like to enjoy my food and I’ll remind you all that I expect next Thursday to be a relaxed and comfortable affair.”

The three siblings nod and obey their mother’s request to continue with dinner. As Michael eats, he’s unsure what he’ll be reporting to Ryan later, but he feels the benefit of the weight of their secret being lifted slightly from his shoulders. 

*

For Michael, Thanksgiving feels like an out of body experience. He picks Ryan up at the airport on Wednesday night and takes him to his apartment, showing him around and introducing him to Herman. He enjoys finally showing Ryan his place – particularly when Ryan makes a pointed comment about what he’d like to do to Michael on specific surfaces – and they spend the evening together in a contented bubble.

As they climb the steps of his Mom’s house the next day, Michael has never been more determined to convince her to move house – and soon – away from the place he grew up. He feels a rush of memories, concluding with the time he came reluctantly down the stairs after practice and literally almost fell over Ryan eleven years previously.

Fingers nudge his own and Ryan takes his hand, squeezing gently. Michael turns to glance at Ryan and the older man smiles. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get on board with this, MP,” he says. “You were looking forward to this, remember? No more hiding from them.”

Michael nods and stops in front of the door, staring at it. Ryan tugs on his arm. “Dude,” he reminds him, “you need to either ring or use your key.”

“How’d you know I still have one?” Michael mutters, fishing into his pocket for his keys.

Ryan rolls his eyes. “You’re a Mama’s boy, MP. You’d still have a key even if you lived on another planet.”

Michael frowns as he fits the key into the lock. “Takes one to know one,” he sulks.

“It does,” Ryan smiles. “I freely admit that.” Before Michael turns the key, Ryan leans over and kisses him softly. “I love you, you know?”

Michael blinks, abandoning the keys in the door to turn and face Ryan properly. “No.”

Ryan looks a little offended but shrugs. “Okay, well I’m sorry about that too, but it’s true. You’re stuck with me. I love you and I maybe should’ve picked a different moment to tell you, but I kinda lost control of that one,” he pauses to scratch his head. “You gonna finish what you started and let us in?”

Michael shakes his head and pulls Ryan into his arms, kissing him deeply. “I love you too,” he murmurs against Ryan’s lips when the kiss slows down enough for him to breathe.

“Can you love me inside?” Ryan grins. “It’s kinda cold.”

Before Michael can let go of Ryan, the door swings open and Hilary rolls her eyes at them. “Put your boyfriend down, Michael and bring him inside before dinner goes cold. We accounted for Phelps time and everything yet you still manage to be late.”

Her chatter continues as Michael reluctantly unwinds himself from Ryan and steps into the house. “Good to see you, Ryan,” she smiles warmly, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Welcome back.”

Michael braces himself for Hilary to take a swipe at Ryan, but as they remove their coats, nothing happens. There’s still nothing as the three of them proceed through the house and greet the other guests: Debbie’s kept it small this year, with the only introductions to be made between Ryan and Whitney’s husband, plus their two children.

The conversation ebbs and flows around Michael throughout dinner. He listens vaguely, primed for any awkward moments but letting the rest pass him by, answering only when he’s spoken to directly. Ryan gives him a firm kick at the end of the main course and Michael passes up the plates to be cleared away.

“C’mon,” Ryan insists. “I’ve only got two hands, you can help me.”

Michael reluctantly gets up and follows Ryan and his mother into the kitchen. “Are you alright?” Ryan asks as soon as they’re out of earshot of the table. Michael offers a small shrug and his mother clucks from the other side of the room.

“Michael Fred, I don’t know where you are today, but it’s not here,” she bustles over, eyeing him fiercely. “Stop worrying about whatever it is that’s on your mind and enjoy the time with your family. Nobody’s here to get at you.”

She hands him a stack of dirty dishes and points the pair of them at the dishwasher. As they stack the machine, Ryan tries to ease Michael’s worries. “It’s fine, dude, I think it’s going well,” he says. “Nobody’s said anything bad, but there’s no, like, awkwardness. They do seem genuinely okay with it. So stop being all defensive with your barriers up. If anything, you’re freaking them out. They’re not used to you being like this with them.”

Michael doesn’t reply, but he lets Ryan’s words sink in as they return to the table. Dessert is served and, with a squeeze under the table from Ryan, Michael does as he’s told and relaxes. He begins to smile and laugh and participate in the conversation, realising that his mother and Ryan were right, that it is okay and it – amazingly – isn’t weird. Hilary had set the tone with her greeting and, although Michael wouldn’t be surprised to learn that everyone had been cautioned prior to Ryan’s arrival, he starts to feel like it probably would’ve been unnecessary.

Ryan had, after all, been accepted into their lives once before. As he glances over at Ryan engaging in conversation with Michael’s own nephew, he sees the man where the boy once was – a familiar body and presence in the room who Michael fell for a long time ago, but whose personality has changed as he’s grown in the meantime. The charm remains the same, as do a lot of other things about Ryan, but he’s eased into his life as an adult. They’re both still learning how their relationship works, how to take care of each other and move forward, but it’s a promising start.

Michael still has to clear the hurdle of meeting the Lochte clan, but as he watches his family interact with each other, he knows that he and Ryan have scored one touchdown by getting his own relatives on side, which is more than they had a week before. And the rest, Michael hopes, will be just as straightforward.

*

Michael rides a high after Thanksgiving. The combination of knowing that Ryan loves him and his closest family are now aware of their relationship have helped his confidence in the relationship, and he finds himself able to look to the future, considering in more detail what is to come for himself and Ryan. Michael plans to retire in less than two years and these days as he swims, he thinks about where he and Ryan might live, and how he might spend his time. He’s keen to have a conversation with Ryan to start firming things up and getting excited, but he decides to wait until the new year, when he will have hopefully passed the Lochte test and he’ll need something to inspire him through the dark days of January.

Due to the extended vacation they’re planning for Christmas, Michael doesn’t fly up to Michigan during December. Ryan manages to get away earlier for Christmas than Michael, so they arrange that Ryan will spend two nights in Baltimore prior to them arriving in Florida together two days before Christmas.

Michael’s nerves pick up on the flight to Florida. Following Hilary’s comment at Thanksgiving, Ryan has had to assure Michael on several occasions that the pig she referred to will already be dead, and that his other relatives will deal with butterflying it, but that Michael may be required to assist with building the fire which is necessary to cook said pig. This gave Michael something different to worry about, given that he was the child who grew up in a pool, rather than in a forest with a tent, a stick and a piece of flint.

Most of the journey is therefore taken up with Ryan explaining the finer details of how to build a good fire, and wishing they were outdoors already because apparently this is a lot easier to explain when in an open area, rather than using a cocktail napkin and a leaky pen. He manages to relax a little again when they arrive in the sunshine of Florida, strip down to t-shirts and settle into their rental car for the drive to Ryan’s Mom’s house. Ryan’s set up a playlist and it’s a pleasant drive full of laughter and discussions of how to spend their free time away from Ryan’s family before they both head back for a busy season at the pool.

“So, uh, anything else I should know?” Michael asks as he senses they’re getting close to their destination.

Ryan looks straight ahead through the windshield, driving a route he’s incredibly familiar with but suddenly seeming like he really has to concentrate on the road. “Um. No? You not tap Hilary up for this info?”

“I... didn’t feel right asking her. I’m sure she’d have shared,” Michael shrugs. “But it didn’t feel like her responsibility, you know?”

Ryan nods, still not turning to look at Michael.

“So you gonna answer my question properly?” Michael prods. “There anyone who smells bad or will try to trip me up or who has a toe coming out of their head that I shouldn’t mention or something?”

Ryan doesn’t even raise a smile at Michael’s borderline-crass jokes. He stops the car and cuts the engine, still holding onto the steering wheel.

“Okay, you’re scaring me,” Michael tells him. “What gives?” Michael looks at Ryan carefully, willing him to turn and make eye contact. When the older man doesn’t, he reaches over and peels one of Ryan’s hands off the wheel, squeezing reassuringly. “Hey. I’m excited, aren’t you? What’s going on, man? Did it not go well when you told them I was coming? Shit, I should’ve asked you about that, I kept forgetting. I’m so sorry, Ry. How were they about it?”

Ryan shakes his head slowly, looking down at his lap. Michael swallows. “Ry?” he asks again. “You did tell them, right?”

“I...” Ryan swallows. “I didn’t know how. Like, what was I supposed to do?”

Michael tries not to stare at him and instead forces himself to steady his voice and stay calm. “Well. I guess it happens now then. Do you want to go in by yourself or do you want me to come with you?”

“I... what?!”

“Right,” Michael nods. “Stupid question.” He gets out of the car and goes round to the other side, opening Ryan’s door and holding out his hand. “Come on, let’s go.”

Ryan gets out of the car and leads the way towards the house. When they reach the door, Ryan comes to a stop and freezes. Michael gives him a pointed look, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu.

“What?” Ryan asks.

Michael squeezes his hand. “I love you. Get your key out, let us in and introduce me to everyone.”

Ryan nods, coming to a little and finds his key, fitting it into the lock and letting them into the house. As they enter the foyer, the sound of feet rumbling down the stairs greets them and, before long, Devon appears in front of them.

“Ry!” he enthuses, barrelling into his brother and enveloping him in a tight hug. “Good to see you!”

They pull apart and Devon grins at Michael, reaching up for a high five. “Hey Mike. Don’t be afraid of that thing in the sky, okay? It’s called the sun, I know you don’t have it up north.”

Michael rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Thanks for the tip. Got any more advice?”

Devon holds up a towel. “Don’t leave yours unattended. Fuckin’ dogs, man. Thought mine was theirs so I’m on my second already.”

Michael nods. “Great, thanks for the heads up. Where’s everyone else?”

“Out back,” Devon tells them, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “You coming? I bet they’re all excited to meet you.”

“Uh,” Ryan finally offers something to the conversation, even if it isn’t a coherent contribution. Devon’s eyebrows shoot up.

Michael clears his throat. “I don’t think they are, actually. I think they’re in for a bit of an early Christmas surprise.”

“Dude,” Devon shoves his brother. “What’re you playing at?”

“Hey,” Michael says firmly, wrapping an arm around Ryan’s shoulder protectively. “I found it rough telling mine alone. It doesn’t bother me that Ry wanted us to do this together.”

“Thanks man,” Ryan mumbles. “Appreciate it.”

“No problem,” Michael murmurs back. He looks up at Devon again. “Seeing as you’re in on it, would you mind maybe helping us out?”

Devon shrugs. “Sure. You coming?” Michael nods, steering Ryan behind his younger brother through the house and out onto the deck.

The back yard is full of chattering and laughing people dotted around the sunny space. A small pool acts as the centrepiece and there’s a large table groaning with food. Michael can see why Ryan misses it so much – what’s not to love about sunshine, outdoor living and good company in December?

As Michael’s figuring out where to start – he assumes Ryan’s parents, but is struggling to pick them out of the crowd – Devon takes over. Ryan’s younger brother sticks his fingers in his mouth and, before Michael can stop him, Devon issues a loud whistle.

He succeeds in getting everyone’s attention on the first go, and as if they’re on strings, every person in the back yard turns to look at Devon, Ryan and Michael on the deck. “Hey everyone,” Devon yells. “Ry’s here!”

Ryan raises the hand that isn’t wedged between his body and Michael’s and waves weakly at the assembled crowd. “Hey everyone,” he says. “Um. So. This is Michael.”

Michael puts on his best “for the people” smile and waves at them all in what he hopes conveys “I’m pleased to meet you, sorry Ryan didn’t tell you”. Devon reaches over the railing and grabs two beers, pressing one each into Michael and Ryan’s hands as the people before them stop randomly waving back and return to their conversations.

One person breaks away from the crowd of family members and makes their way towards Michael and Ryan. As she gets closer, Michael recognises Ryan’s Mom from pictures, as well as the striking resemblance between her and her son. He pulls away from Ryan in anticipation of the obvious, leaving him free to accept his mother’s embrace.

“I’m so pleased to see you, Ryan,” she tells him from somewhere in the middle of the hug. “But you are such a brat. I knew something was up when you hardly called for the last month, I was so worried it was something bad. Why didn’t you tell me you had good news?”

Ryan blushes and looks contrite. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just... didn’t know where to start, I guess.” He glances over at Michael, who smiles encouragingly.

“Well here’s an idea, how about: ‘Mom, I’ve met someone who makes me really happy, I can’t wait to bring him down for Christmas. His name’s Michael, you can ask him all about himself when he arrives’. It didn’t have to be complicated, sweetheart,” she tells him. “But never mind, you’re here now.”

Michael clears his throat and switches his beer to his left hand, leaving his right free to offer to Ryan’s Mom. “It’s great to meet you, Mrs L...”

Ike cuts him off and bats his hand away, pulling him into a strong hug. “My name’s Ike, you’ll call me that. And it’s great to meet you too,” she insists, letting him go and holding him at arm’s length. “I’ll let Ryan introduce you to everyone else and then you can come straight back to me so that we can talk more, okay?”

Michael nods, knowing that, like his own mother, Ike is not someone to argue with. “Have fun,” she beams at them, disappearing inside.

Michael turns to Ryan with a smile. “So. Where should we start?”

Ryan smiles back hesitantly and leads the way into the throng of people. He steadily introduces Michael to groups of his family, stopping for both of them to answer questions and for Ryan to catch up on various pieces of news. Michael finds it a little like walking a press line, in that he answers the same questions repeatedly, but it’s more pleasant than that, as he’s actually interested in what the other people have to say. He works hard to learn names, remember facts and ask interesting questions, sharing information about himself and showing how much he cares for Ryan.

Once they’ve completed a full lap of the back yard, Michael’s grateful of the opportunity to sit down next to Ryan with a plate of food and a fresh beer. They eat in silence for a few minutes before being joined by Devon.

“You figured out who the weirdos are yet?” he asks Michael.

“Yup,” Michael grins, shooting an appalled-looking Ryan a reassuring look. “All of you.”

Devon looks affronted but Ryan rolls his eyes and chips in, finally looking more relaxed, “You kinda asked for that, dude.”

“In all seriousness,” Michael continues, not wanting to be in the middle of a sibling fight, “everyone’s been really nice so far. Which I kinda expected anyway.”

Devon raises an eyebrow. “Really? After what your sister could’ve told you?”

Michael shrugs. “I didn’t ask her. And generally, good people,” he smiles at Ryan, “come from other good people so... I figured it’d be okay. Wasn’t banking on people not having a clue that I was coming, but... it’s turned out alright so far.”

“Sorry,” Ryan mumbles, looking down at his plate.

Michael reaches over and squeezes Ryan’s thigh, ignoring the gagging sound Devon makes. “It’s cool. I wish you’d said earlier, because I would’ve wanted to help. I didn’t know you were struggling. But like I said, it’s been fine. We can just relax and enjoy ourselves.”

Devon snorts. “Oh man. Never relax around the Lochtes. That’s just asking for trouble.”

Michael laughs. “Noted. I’m starting to get suspicious of your advice, though.”

A voice behind them joins the conversation. “If he isn’t behaving himself, you just tell me Michael and I’ll deal with it,” Ike promises.

Michael turns around and looks up at Ike with a smile. “Thanks. Nice to know someone has my back.”

Ike sits herself down next to Ryan and wraps her arms around him again. “Anyone who makes my boy as happy as he is now gets my support,” she says, smiling broadly, if a little tearily.

“Mom...” Ryan blushes, trying to duck away.

“Would you rather I didn’t approve?” Ike asks her son.

Ryan rolls his eyes at Michael. “No.”

“Well then,” Ike continues. “Allow me to be happy for you.” Ryan nods meekly, giving up on the fight. 

“Now Michael,” Ike turns to him again. “Tell me about yourself.”

“What would you like to know?” Michael asks, accepting a fresh beer from whoever has just passed him handing them out and settling in for what could be a long conversation.

*

Most of Ryan’s family hang out until late into the evening, only departing when kids really do need to be put to bed, or adults have had just a little less than too much to drink. Eventually, only Ryan and Michael are still awake. Together, they straighten the house up as much as possible and, when they’re done Ryan takes Michael outside to sit on the pool deck, dangling their feet in the water.

It’s peaceful for the first time all day, and Michael lets his brain unwind, enjoying the relative silence and the lap of water around his calves for a while. Ryan has Michael’s hand in his, squeezing and flexing his fingers periodically, as if Michael’s hand is a stress ball. Michael doesn’t mind the movements, though he hopes that Ryan manages to fully relax at some point during their trip.

“I really am sorry,” Ryan says quietly.

Michael tilts his face to look at Ryan seriously. “You need to stop saying that. We did this already: you apologised, I accepted, we’re cool. It’s over, done. Nobody died.”

Ryan nods. “I know, but... I feel bad. You didn’t make me walk into that.”

“No, but I did call you and tell you that I was going to tell them about five minutes before I actually did it,” Michael reminds him. “I don’t think either of us handled it in a, like, textbook manner. But we’re here and both of our families have been really great. That’s what matters, not the process.”

“I guess I’m also... not surprised, but uh... impressed?” Ryan fumbles. “I mean, with how you handled it. You just... got on with it, no questions asked, no fuss made. I kinda feel like we might’ve had a fight about it, that you could’ve run away. But you just took it in your stride, charmed the pants off them all.” He laughs. “It was quite something to watch, actually.”

Michael shrugs, blushing a little into the darkness. “I did what I had to do,” he says, stroking his thumb back and forth across Ryan’s hand. “I mean, I did it for you. For us. I needed them to like me, to be okay with it. So I made sure they were. I was freaked out initially, but when I reminded myself why I was doing it, why it mattered, that you love me... it was easy.”

Ryan nods again and, although he doesn’t usually, Michael feels the need to fill the silence. He tugs on Ryan’s hand, encouraging the other man to look up at him. “Hey. You made it easy, you know? It really mattered that I got this right. Because it wasn’t just about today and tomorrow. I think... even without all of the extra stuff we might have going on, all couples have tough times, right? So this mattered for the long term as well. We could need them to have our backs. And they wouldn’t if I made a bad impression. Today was... an investment. They matter to you and you matter to me. And I couldn’t have done this before, or for anyone else. You helped me to get here.”

“This is corny as fuck,” Ryan tells him. “But I’m really proud of you.”

Michael smiles. “I’m proud of me too. And you. And that we can be together here.”

“I’m sorry that we still can’t...” Ryan bites his lip.

Michael shakes his head. “It’s okay. This is another step. I’ll admit, there was a time I was worried we wouldn’t make it this far. But here we are, we’ve done this. I know we’ll do the rest eventually. Thank you for inviting me. I’m enjoying it.”

“Good,” Ryan smiles. “Just do one thing for me?”

“Anything,” Michael agrees.

“Hold that thought when they start pranking you?”

Michael laughs. “All I can do is try.”

“Good enough,” Ryan shrugs, leaning over and kissing him.

*

The following three days pass quickly. Christmas with the Lochtes is a noisy, fun-filled affair and part of Michael doesn’t want it to end – mainly because, once it’s over, he has to leave Ryan for three days to go home and train, before meeting back up with him for their brief New Years vacation. They’re only able to make it a long weekend this time, but Michael has been charged with organising their destination.

“Good Christmas?” Bob asks as Michael walks out onto the deck for his practice.

“Uh,” Michael stumbles, floored by the question from his coach. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“How’s Ryan?”

“Good,” Michael answers distractedly, freezing when the word leaves his mouth. “Shit.”

“Which is it?” Bob asks with a frown.

Michael swallows. “He’s good. The ‘shit’ was for falling into your trap.”

“Michael, how long have we known each other?”

“Uh,” mental math has never been Michael’s strong point. “Like... more than half my life.”

Bob nods. “Right. And you think I don’t know when you’re lying to me?”

“Is this about what happened in Rome?”

“It is if you lied to Gregg and me that day, and if the reason that you radically changed your schedule to get weekends off isn’t so that you can go and play poker or pursue commercial interests or contemplate your navel but so that you can go to Michigan to see Ryan.”

“Can we just get on with practice?”

“I’m not trying to make this any more awkward than it already is,” Bob tells him. “I don’t care what you do outside of the pool as long as it doesn’t damage what you do in it. And I have no complaints about what you’re doing in the pool at the moment. I just needed you to know that I know. And that, at this point, nobody has asked me about it. If they do, I can’t lie. But I won’t bring it up unless I’m asked directly. Got it?”

Michael nods. Bob picks up his clipboard and points to the board with Michael’s sets on it. “Away you go.”

Michael pulls on his goggles and drops into the pool, thinking about how to break this news to Ryan as he swims.

*

Ryan predictably takes Michael’s news badly. Michael keeps the conversation short and to the point, relieved in many ways that they’re apart at the moment: he figures it gives Ryan to process it and come to terms with it, without them having to be in the same room as each other. He lets Ryan know that he’s happy to talk about it any time, day or night, whenever Ryan’s ready, then leaves him to it.

He doesn’t hear from Ryan for almost three days. After his final practice of the year, Michael forwards Ryan an email with his flight confirmation on it. He hasn’t called his boyfriend, but he’s texted twice per day to try and stay in touch. He’s had nothing in response, and he’s starting to worry that Ryan might not get on the plane. Or speak to him ever again. Michael has no idea how to handle the silence: he’d thought things had been going well, progressing at a slow pace still, but it had all been forward movement. This incident has taken them back to a point that Michael had long since forgotten about, and it’s not a place he wants to be again.

Just as he’s leaving the house to catch his own flight, his phone rings.

“Hey,” Ryan says, sounding a little breathless.

“Are you okay?” Michael asks.

“Just running to the gate. Sorry I haven’t been in touch. I, uh, I’m looking forward to seeing you,” Ryan pants.

“Me too. Does that mean you’re still coming?”

“I don’t run for planes I’m not intending to catch, Mike,” Ryan tells him. “I’ll see you there, okay? Have a good flight.”

“You too. See you when we get there.”

*

Michael enters the suite he booked quietly. It’s stupid o’clock in the morning and he’s pretty sure that Ryan will be awake and similarly jetlagged, but he creeps in on the off-chance that the other man is sleeping.

As he reaches the living area, he can hear Ryan’s voice, and rounds the corner to see the curtain by the balcony doors wafting in the morning breeze. Ryan’s outside on the phone and Michael drops his bags in the living room as he waits for the older man to finish his call.

Michael makes himself useful by rooting through the kitchen to find supplies and starts to make a pot of coffee, leaning against the counter and yawning. He hears the rustle of the curtains a moment later and Ryan pads into the room to join him.

“Hey,” Ryan says softly, standing behind Michael and wrapping his arms around his waist. “You been here long?”

Michael shakes his head. “Just long enough to start the coffee. You?”

Ryan presses a gentle kiss to Michael’s shoulder through his t-shirt. “Just a few minutes longer than you. Long enough to realise that this must’ve cost a bomb.”

Michael shrugs and pours two mugs of coffee, still being held in Ryan’s arms. “It’s just money. I wanted us to be somewhere different than last year.”

Ryan hums in recognition. “It is that. And somewhere that we’ve both been before, unlike last year.”

Michael blushes. “I, uh, don’t really know what I was thinking. Other than it’s supposed to be a cool place to be at this time of year.”

Ryan pulls back a little, trying to make eye contact. “I’m not complaining. I think it’s a great choice. I’m glad we’re here, thanks for arranging it all.”

“No problem,” Michael shrugs, adding milk to his own coffee and pushing Ryan’s mug towards him. Michael picks his drink up and takes a sip, but Ryan leaves his alone.

“So, um, I know we need to talk,” Ryan says. “But is now the best time or do you want to sleep for a bit or... I don’t know.”

Michael catches Ryan’s gaze for the first time, looking at him over the rim of his mug and makes a noncommittal noise.

Ryan nods. “Okay, we’ll talk.” He leans against the counter, facing Michael and clears his throat. “I’m sorry I didn’t get in touch. What you told me the other day didn’t really surprise me, if I’m honest. But it did make me think about where we’re headed and other people finding out...”

“Can I just?” Michael interrupts. Ryan hesitates but nods. “Throw me under the bus. I don’t care.”

“Huh?” Ryan blinks.

“When the news gets out. Which is, like, inevitable,” Michael clarifies. “Tell them it was all me. I’ll tell the press. It can be that I relentlessly pursued you, wouldn’t take no for an answer, blah blah, whatever. Take the heat off yourself.”

Ryan shakes his head determinedly. “No. I’m not doing that.”

“But...” Michael protests. “The whole reason we’ve tiptoed around for a year was for you. Why have all of that be for nothing?”

“Because I’m done with the lies,” Ryan replies. “If or when this gets out – whether it’s our choice or not – I think we should tell the truth. It’s not fair on either of us or our families and friends if we keep up this lie. And I love you, I don’t want to make you look bad for my own sake. How is that right?”

“I... are you sure?”

“I’ve thought about this a lot. And yes, I’m sure. And what if some miracle happens and it’s not as bad as I think?”

That’s a new idea for Michael. He’d always just gone along with Ryan’s apocalyptic theory, rather than considering an alternative. But Ryan has a point. They could be wrong.

“And,” Ryan adds, “if we do end up having kids, they’ll grow up and learn to Google. You want them reading that?”

They both know that question doesn’t need an answer. Michael runs a hand through his hair. “I still wish you’d talked to me,” Michael replies.

“I know and I’m...”

“It worries me,” Michael cuts in. “That’s the second time you’ve not brought up something that’s difficult, Ry. And it makes me wonder what you’ll do if we get outed. Are you just gonna run away? Blame me for whatever happens? This isn’t a game, this is our lives, and I want to stand by that, but at the moment, I’m not sure you will.”

Michael says it all in a rush and winces when he’s over, concerned by how harsh it may have sounded. He doesn’t think he really expressed what he means, but Ryan responds before he can start talking again.

“I see that now,” Ryan nods. “Like I said, I’ve thought this through and realised it’s time for me to make some changes. I used to well, criticise or make fun or whatever, use your age to write off your behaviour. And maybe it’s because you knew that and maybe it’s a natural thing, but either way, you’ve changed. And you support me and care about what I think and what I want. It’s time for me to do the same.”

“Right. So that means...?”

Ryan takes a deep breath. “I’ve had an idea. And it needs some discussion, but I thought it might help. Hopefully reassure us both.”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “Okay, I’m listening.”

Ryan nods. “I was wondering if, like, maybe, we should prepare. As in, properly. Sit down with your agent or whoever and have a...” he winces, “strategy?”

Michael blinks. It wasn’t an idea that had occurred to him previously. “What?”

Ryan blushes. “I, um, might have got a little geeky about this. But I just got thinking about stuff. And I was trying to do some research but, obviously, there aren’t a lot of people in our position so I tried to break it down a bit and then ended up going miles and miles down this child psychology and parenting track and... something just clicked. I read some stuff about how kids get treated when they’re thinking about coming out or if they get outed and some of it just seemed relevant. And I know how your agent likes to plan for things so... it made sense.”

He finally stops talking and takes a sip of his coffee, possibly so that he has something to do, Michael thinks. And once he’s used to the fact that Ryan’s stopped talking, Michael thinks about what he said.

“I... you know what, I think you might be onto something,” Michael says slowly. “Do you have to be at work on Monday?”

Ryan nods, “Yeah, we’re flying back separately, remember?”

Michael swears and paces across the kitchen as he thinks. “Would you mind if we cut our trip short?”

Ryan raises an eyebrow, “We come all the way here only for you to fly us back again before New Years?”

Michael shakes his head, “No, like, after. If we go back on Saturday and have a meeting on Sunday. I doubt we’ll get everything sorted then anyway, he’ll want to go away and consult with other people, but we’ll need to kick it off by explaining stuff. And I’d rather we do that together. Are you in?”

Ryan nods. “Yeah, of course. But how...”

“I’ll make it happen.”

* 

Michael’s plans for the trip end up going further awry the following day. His idea had been that they’d celebrate the New Year out in the city but Ryan, for a change, seems keen to stay in. He reasons that it’s a beautiful suite and they have a better view of the fireworks than they would from the street. When Michael considered it, Ryan’s argument was a good one.

They celebrate the New Year several storeys above Sydney, with champagne and a late dinner without having to wear clothes. As he stands overlooking the harbour and watching the display with Ryan, Michael thinks that revisiting a city which had previously made a mark on their relationship was one of his better ideas.

The following day, their revised itinerary continues with a private jet taking them back to the US and a hastily-scheduled meeting with Michael’s agent. Predictably, they both fall in love with their newly-discovered mode of transport and discuss the many ways flying privately is superior to commercial.

Michael’s agent shows up prepared for the worst – Ryan had warned Michael about not telling him the reason for the meeting, calling him on a holiday and insisting on an immediate face to face consultation, but Michael had insisted on doing it his way – but is surprised by what he’s confronted with. The three of them spend several hours discussing the implications of any news breaking, what will be said in various scenarios and how it will impact on Michael’s career and interests, as well as their wider circle of friends and family.

It’s exhausting, and Michael doesn’t like having to put Ryan straight on a plane to Michigan, but on the tarmac outside the jet, they embrace and share the sentiment that they’re pleased to have turned this corner and made this decision. They haven’t yet arranged their next series of visits, but Michael knows that it’ll be soon.

When he settles down in bed that evening, Michael again pulls out his ancient notebook and stares at the lines on one page until they blur into a mass of marks. He turns the page and starts a new countdown: towards retirement.

*

Michael’s January is frustratingly Ryan-free. There’s no time for either of them to pay the other a visit, but there are many emails and phone calls bounced around between Michael, his agent and Ryan regarding the variety of plans which are being made to cover a vast range of eventualities concerning the outing of their relationship. Most days, it makes Michael’s head spin and all he wants to do is turn off his phone and wish he’d vetoed Ryan’s idea. But the more sensible part of him knows that the suggestion came from a good place and, given that Peter got on board with it so quickly, it must also have been incredibly astute of Ryan. Not to mention brave.

Once it’s over and everyone’s agreed on the range of plans, Michael and Ryan share a conversation expressing their relief, safe in the knowledge that they have another ally – albeit one who is paid handsomely by Michael – who will swoop in should anything happen. Michael’s pleased that they have been able to make some decisions from a clear standpoint, without any sense of urgency or emotions getting in the way. It means that he can drop into the pool each morning and just swim, then climb out in the afternoon, recover and speak to Ryan in the evening.

In hindsight, Michael recognises that they lulled themselves into a false sense of security: they were so pleased with what they’d done that they forgot all about being careful, and slipped up at the very first opportunity.

It was clear from the outset that it wasn’t going to be their weekend: Ryan was due to fly down early on the Friday having found somebody to cover practices for his team, but was delayed by Carter choosing that morning to puke in various points around the house. Fortunately, a trip to the vet ruled out anything too sinister and the dog was cleared to be dropped off at his usual vacation spot. 

Ryan got a lucky seat on the next flight and arrived in Baltimore a few hours later than planned, but with enough time for them to order Ryan’s standard Friday night menu of pizza and wings to be consumed on the couch with Herman wedged under their legs and Ryan’s choice of corny movie on TV.

Michael reluctantly kept his Saturday swim practice, but earned himself a free pass for the rest of the weekend as a result. They had dinner with Michael’s family on Saturday evening, and most of Sunday was spent indoors being lazy.

Neither of them was aware that leaving the house for some fresh air and a run on Sunday afternoon prior to Ryan’s flight home was a mistake until Monday morning, when the shit comprehensively hit the fan. 

Michael knows something is seriously wrong when Bob pulls him out of the pool mid-set and hands him a phone and a towel. He attempts to dry off as he listens to Peter, but gets as far as hearing that a plan is being implemented before he cuts in and asks, “Where’s Ryan?”

“I don’t know,” Peter replies. “I haven’t spoken to him.”

“I’m hanging up and leaving now,” Michael tells him. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

*

It takes Michael seven attempts to get through to Ryan. “Where are you?” he asks before Ryan can even say a word.

“I’m at work,” Ryan replies, startled. “Has somebody died?”

“I hope not,” Michael says. “We’ve got enough on today without that happening too.”

“Fuck,” Ryan breathes.

“It’s going to be okay,” Michael winces, knowing that the penny has dropped. “But you should probably get your stuff together and get out of there.”

“I... okay.”

Michael grips the steering wheel tighter as he spins the car into his apartment complex. “I love you,” he tells Ryan. “Everything will be alright.”

Ryan hesitates and Michael can hear rustling at the other end of the line. “I know,” he eventually says steadily. “I’ll speak to you soon.”

*

What Michael feels worst about is that Ryan’s alone. Throughout the course of the afternoon, various people drift into Michael’s apartment. Some of them don’t stay long, but the offer of moral support – and, occasionally, physical violence against the people who conspired to out them – is there.

Aside from Carter, Ryan has no support network close by, and it takes Michael all afternoon to think to call Devon – who had ultimately decided against moving to a place where snow exists – and get him on a flight to Michigan. Ryan’s brother barely pauses to gather his things when Michael calls to tell him there’s a ticket waiting at the airport and that his flight leaves in just over two hours. Michael wishes that he could be the one on the plane to Michigan, or that Ryan could be en route to Baltimore, but it’s decided that the best move is for them both to try again the following day to continue with their usual routines.

The crowd of people outside Michael’s apartment complex grows steadily bigger and, once they figure out where Ryan lives, the press are at his door too. Devon muscles his way through the crowd and calls Michael once he’s inside, quickly passing the phone to Ryan.

“Thank you,” are the first words out of Ryan’s mouth.

“I’m sorry it can’t be me,” Michael replies.

“Dev’s a close second,” Michael’s relieved to hear a smile in Ryan’s voice. “I mean, he doesn’t put out, but he’s my brother, so that’d be weird anyways.”

Michael smiles too, but quickly gets serious. “So did anyone at work say anything?”

“Just that they’d explain to the team,” Ryan says, sounding tired. “I’m trying to figure out what to do for the best, whether to ask to have a meeting with everyone or just to proceed as regular. Like, do I make it out to be a big deal and draw attention to the issue or do I just carry on?”

“I hope it’s not an issue for them,” Michael replies. “I really don’t see why it should be.”

“Apart from Clary.”

Michael groans. “Fuck, Clary. I don’t know what his deal is.”

“Oh, here’s a few ideas: you’re better than him, he thinks you shouldn’t be, the little upstart thinks he’s hot shit, you swim the same events?” Michael can tell there’s at least one eye roll in there. “You’re his competition, babe. He hates you. And, I suspect that when you swam for the same team, you weren’t all that great to him.”

“I tried!” Michael protests.

“Yeah, I can imagine exactly how hard,” Ryan definitely rolls his eyes that time. “Sometimes it’s hard to tell the difference between when you’re trying and when you’re not giving a fuck.”

“Well excuse me while I carry on not giving a fuck that we just got outed.”

Ryan sighs. “Can I reserve judgment on that one?”

“Yes.” Michael pauses. “I really am sorry, Ry. I was hoping we’d get there and it’d be okay.”

“I... there’s one definite positive and that’s that we don’t have to hide anymore,” Ryan says quietly. “How have your sponsors taken it?”

Michael shrugs. “Pretty well so far. At least I’ve not done anything illegal this time. Good to know that being gay is not quite as bad as committing a crime.”

“I’m sure it’s the other way around in some states.”

“Yeah. We’re lucky,” Michael nods. “Peter’s figuring out where’s best to do the big interview.”

“Right. Is that gonna be soon?”

“As soon as possible, I think,” Michael confirms. “Get it out of the way, get any questions over with and then back to swimming.”

“Hey, um, Dev looks hungry, so I’d better feed him before he expires.”

“Okay,” Michael agrees. “Take care of yourself, call me any time.”

“I will. I love you.”

Michael feels like a complete girl in the midst of the media blowing a hole through their lives, but his heart skips a beat at Ryan’s statement. “I love you too.”

*

On his return to work, Ryan has to complete a long meeting with various University administrators to reassure them that neither he nor Michael has done anything wrong, that their relationship only took on a romantic nature just over a year previously and that nobody else has been involved. Once they are satisfied, Ryan is able to return to the pool and continue his job.

Michael and Ryan speak after his first day back, and Ryan tells Michael that he feels overwhelmed, that most of his athletes were supportive of him, some making a point to tell him that they valued his coaching skills and benefit to them as swimmers far more than they cared about his personal life. Predictably, Clary looked like he still might pose a problem, and they prepare themselves for some sort of shit involving him to hit the fan at a later date.

Michael’s interview has been brokered with Sports Illustrated, and they’re due to meet him the following day. He runs a few things past Ryan, checking that he’s comfortable with the way Michael hopes to portray things.

“Just tell it how it is and say stuff you’re comfortable with,” Ryan suggests. “They’ll print things the way they want to... OW!”

“Ow?” Michael asks worriedly.

“Hold on a sec,” Ryan tells him. There’s a smack, which sounds very much like the phone being put down, followed by some grunting, shouting and, eventually, laughter. Ryan returns to the phone panting. “Sorry. My bratty brother has decided we need a time limit on discussing ‘the situation’ and that we should do whatever we normally do after that. Which is now.”

Michael grins. “Sounds good. Does he really want to watch you have phone sex though?”

Ryan laughs. “I don’t think he thought that through. Kinda feel like I should punish him though.”

“In that case,” Michael says, leaning over to switch the TV on. “Let’s go Live. Then we can both kick his ass.”

“You have the best ideas,” Ryan tells him. “We’ll be with you in two, game on.”

*

When the Sports Illustrated interview is published, everything goes mysteriously quiet. Too quiet. The people closest to Michael and Ryan’s day to day lives say nothing, as if they don’t know what to say or are waiting for the wider world to react first. 

Their relationship becoming common knowledge was something Michael had looked forward to, but the reality turns out to be different from what he imagined. Ryan visits him in Baltimore three weeks after the news is leaked and they go straight out to dinner. It’s a huge mistake: everyone in the restaurant stares and gets their phones out to take pictures. The manager moves them to a different table twice before their main courses arrive and, when they begin to eat, they’re both so uncomfortable that they decide enough is enough and have the food boxed up to go.

When they make to leave, they find the sidewalk outside the restaurant swarming with circling paparazzi. The manager offers to let them out the back, but as the car’s right outside, there really is no avoiding the situation. They run the gauntlet heads down as quickly as possible and Michael speeds them home. They don’t leave the apartment for the rest of the weekend and, for the first time since he was about fifteen, Michael feels like he wants to cry.

Being open about their relationship was meant to afford them a freedom they hadn’t previously experienced: the opportunity to go out together, to hold hands in public and not care who saw. Instead, they are more hidden away than ever, cocooned in Michael’s apartment so that they can be left in peace.

When he returns from dropping Ryan off at the airport – again, dodging photographers at various points during the journey – Michael sits on the couch, Herman under his hand and stares at the wall, wondering if this is just the beginning.

*

Fortunately for Michael and Ryan, there’s always a random celebrity fucking up somewhere. Someone gets arrested for doing something they shouldn’t. A well-established couple announce they’re divorcing. Somebody cheats on someone else. The photographers take their cameras elsewhere, the chatter on Facebook and Twitter dies down and, just as suddenly as they hit the headlines, Michael and Ryan are yesterday’s news.

Michael gets what he wants: in amongst the busy day to day nature of their lives which involve training and sponsor appearances and walking dogs, they fly between the three areas which form their homes, spending time together and with their families. Michael never says it out loud because, although Ryan’s come a long way and they’ve weathered a miniature storm together, Michael still knows he’s not ready to talk about certain things, but the spring of this year feels very much like a honeymoon.

The first time that Ryan greets him in an airport with a hug and a kiss, Michael feels like he’s grasped something he’s been reaching blindly for over many years. It feels comfortable and natural, but also exciting. He spends a good couple of weeks with an unstoppable grin on his face and feels the inexplicable urge to stop people in the street and ask them, “Hey, did you know that Ryan Lochte’s my boyfriend?” Michael just about manages to restrain himself, settling instead for taking every available opportunity to sling his arm around Ryan’s shoulders when they’re out and about together, pulling his boyfriend close and kissing him soundly. It’s the best he’s ever felt.

It is, however, not long before Michael experiences the worst thing he’s ever felt. A week after World trials, Ryan receives a double blow. The news arrives that he won’t be required as part of the National coaching team in Shanghai. The message is, of course, handed down by Gregg, a person whom Ryan has a huge amount of respect and admiration for, whose job he had been vaguely dreaming of.

When Michael speaks to Ryan, the older man seems numb, resigned to the news. Michael, on the other hand, is angry and ready to fight.

“No,” Ryan insists. “If anything, fighting will make it worse. They’ve made their decision, just like we made ours. Everyone just has to live with it now.”

“But it’s not fair,” Michael whines. “And this is a really dumb time to do this, surely I’m not the only one who was expecting you to be there, other athletes will have been banking on you too.”

“Maybe,” Ryan sighs. “But they can’t have me.”

“This is crap,” Michael seethes. “They can’t do this.”

“They can,” Ryan tells him. “And they have. Time to move on. I’m okay. Honestly.”

“You don’t sound it,” Michael mutters.

“Do you not maybe want to look on the bright side?” Ryan breezes on. “There’s nothing stopping me coming to watch. I mean, if you want.”

“Of course I want you there,” Michael tells him. “I mean, you’ll have to put up with Mom and the girls crying all over the place. They’re not as bad as they get at the Olympics, but I guess it’ll be good preparation for you.”

“I can handle the ladies, don’t worry,” Ryan confirms. “A swim meet’s not really a holiday, but I’ll take it.”

“I’ll figure out somewhere good for us to go after,” Michael promises. “Or for New Years, if you can’t go anywhere right away.”

“Perfect,” Ryan says. “I’m looking forward to it already.”

*

The following day brings more bad news and, this time, Ryan doesn’t take it so well. Michael knows that something is desperately wrong when Ryan doesn’t check in via text on his lunch break, and the unanswered phone calls begin. Bob has to bodily wrestle Michael’s phone off him and lock it in his desk before Michael will agree to start his gym session, and proceeds to count down the seconds until the torture is over and he can resume his efforts to contact Ryan.

In the car on his way home, he tries contacting various members of Ryan’s family without success. When he pauses to think about that strategy, he realises the plan could make matters worse, if Ryan’s family also haven’t heard from him. Michael wracks his brain for other ideas of who to call. He’s about to dial his Mom as he pulls into his complex, but just as he reaches for the phone, it begins to ring.

Ryan’s name flashes up on the caller ID and Michael has a moment of absolute panic that he’ll answer and get a member of the emergency services instead. He quickly cuts the engine of his car and answers the phone.

“It’s me,” Ryan says. “Sorry I worried you, my battery died and I was driving and... I’m at your Mom’s.”

“What?!” Michael asks, stunned.

Ryan takes a deep breath. “Can you come over?”

“I’ll be there in a half hour. Don’t move.”

*

Forty-five minutes later, Michael, his sisters and their Mom are assembled around Debbie’s kitchen table, listening to Ryan tell them about his day. When he’d arrived at work, there had been another University administration meeting assembled, much like the one he’d attended back in February when the news broke, but this time he hadn’t been aware it was happening.

It turns out that word had gotten around – and, Michael suspects, one athlete in particular had started something they shouldn’t have – and they were politely requesting that he leave before being pushed. Ryan maintains that he kept his cool, asking what sound to Michael like brilliant questions in the face of an onslaught: had they been unhappy with his performance for a while; if so, why had this not been raised before; was there really no other position available for him? All of his questions had gone barely answered, and Ryan had half wanted to stand and fight, but half knew a decision had been made and that it would be better if he weren’t fired. So he’d written his resignation on the spot and left.

Ryan saw no point in staying in Ann Arbor, not wanting to be alone. So he’d gone home, gathered up enough things for him and Carter to survive for a little while, got in his car and drove to Baltimore.

“I didn’t want to go to your place,” he tells Michael. “I was worried the press might’ve gotten hold of the story when I was driving, and I didn’t think you’d be home yet so I came here. I’m sorry for just turning up.”

Debbie reaches across the table and pats his hand, “You have nothing to apologise for, Ryan. But do your family know where you are?”

“Uh,” Ryan stumbles. “That’d be a no.”

Debbie nods. “Let me start fixing dinner for all of us, you go and use Michael’s room.”

Ryan leaves the room and Michael makes to follow him, but finds himself held back by his sisters. He makes a pleading face at Hilary, who shakes her head. “Not gonna work. Leave him for a bit.”

A chopping board, bunch of carrots and a peeler appear in front of him. “You can help me cook, Michael Fred,” Debbie insists.

Michael works his way through the carrots as quickly as his remedial skills will allow and is about to go and find Ryan when a bowl of unpeeled potatoes appear in front of him. He groans loudly and looks at his mother, who is unmoved. 

Michael reluctantly sets to his task, slowed by the awkward shape of the items, and uses the time to think about what will happen next. His mind is a blur and he tries to put himself in Ryan’s shoes to help him figure out what he can do to help, but draws a blank. Michael tosses the last potato into the pot he was provided with and takes it to his Mom at the stove.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “You can go now.”

Michael bolts up the stairs three at a time and stops at the door to his bedroom. He looks at the door for a second, as if it might speak to him and provide a solution. Michael listens carefully and hears Ryan’s voice intermittently through the door. He knocks softly at his own bedroom door, struck by the bizarre nature of the action.

It opens a second later and Ryan, still on the phone, beckons him in. They sit side by side on the bed, Ryan continuing his conversation but offering no sign as to when he might be done. Michael sits awkwardly for a few minutes until Ryan grabs his hand, squeezing it tightly. Michael looks up at his boyfriend and Ryan offers him a strained smile. Michael can’t bring himself to smile in response, instead wrapping his arms around Ryan and pulling him into a tight hug against his chest.

Michael pulls Ryan down onto the bed and lies on his back with Ryan against his chest, talking softly into the phone. Michael’s been ignoring the words, not wanting to intrude, but he clues in when it sounds like Ryan might be wrapping up.

“It’ll be okay,” he says softly. “Michael’s here, Mom and I haven’t really talked to him yet... Yeah, we’re at Debbie’s... I will... You too... Give my love to everyone... I love you too... Okay... Bye, Mom.”

He hangs up, drops the phone and sighs, wrapping his arms around Michael and closing his eyes. “How you doing?” Michael asks quietly after a while.

Ryan shrugs and laughs a little. “Been better.”

Michael starts to rub Ryan’s back slowly. “So would you and Carter like to move in?”

“He wants to check Herman out before he makes a decision,” Ryan replies. “But I spent the whole trip selling Baltimore to him.” He lifts his head a little to look at Michael. “That okay?”

Michael leans forward and kisses Ryan softly. “Wouldn’t want you living with anyone else.”

“This isn’t how I imagined us moving in together,” Ryan muses, putting his head back down on Michael’s chest.

“No?” Michael’s surprised to learn that Ryan’s thought about it in detail.

“I didn’t... I don’t...” Ryan stumbles and sighs. “I’m not, like, trying to be a, uh, kept man or whatever.”

Michael squeezes Ryan gently. “I know. I know you’d rather be doing something. And you still might, you don’t know. You could find a job down here.”

Ryan makes a noncommittal noise, so Michael pushes on. “Look, there’s just no pressure, okay? I agree, it would’ve been better if we could’ve, like, ridden off into the sunset with me retired and being lazy and you doing what you love. It could still work out that way in a year. It won’t be like that tomorrow, no. But when you’re ready, I’m sure you’ll make it work for you. You’ve done it before. And you don’t have to rush into anything, you can do it when you want. Because, like, not to be a dick about it, but money isn’t a problem.”

He pauses and thinks for a second, before going down a different track. “But it will be nice, though. Us living together. No more texts and phone calls and you’ll be sat next to me when I beat you at Madden rather than several states away and we can take the dogs for walks and argue about laundry and eat dinner together and wake up next to each other and there’ll be no more saying goodbye.”

Ryan doesn’t react to any of what Michael says, and when he glances down awkwardly, he realises that Ryan’s fallen asleep. “And you can fall asleep on me any day of the week,” Michael adds. “That’s fine too.”

*

The next thing Michael’s aware of is feeling a lot less heavier than he thought he was. He blinks, trying to focus his eyes and realises that he must’ve fallen asleep. The light has changed outside his bedroom window, and the reason his body doesn’t feel so heavy is because Ryan has moved.

The older man is on the other side of the room, scrutinising something on the wall. Michael rubs his face and sits up, eyes still on Ryan. “Hey,” he says softly.

Ryan turns, a little startled. “Hi,” he smiles, returning to the bed and sitting on the edge, leaning over to kiss Michael. Michael wraps his arms around Ryan and smiles into the kiss with satisfaction, remembering that he’d fallen asleep to thoughts of Ryan moving in with him. Then he recalls why that’s happening and pulls away.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks Ryan, stroking his cheek.

Ryan shrugs. “Less tired,” he answers. “But hungry. And I smell food.”

Michael nods. “I think my Mom believes in the whole armies and stomachs thing.”

Ryan smiles. “Or she raised a swimmer and is used to cooking a lot.” Ryan stands up and holds a hand out to Michael, but he doesn’t take it, the shift in Ryan’s position re-focusing his attention on what he’d seen when he woke up.

“What were you looking at?” Michael asks.

Ryan follows Michael’s gaze and looks over at the wall. “Your map,” he answers. “I was trying to figure it out.”

Michael stands up and leads Ryan to the map. “It’s called the world, Ryan,” Michael jokes, as if talking to a small child. He points to a specific part. “This is where we are, in the US.”

Ryan rolls his eyes. “Duh. I meant I was looking at the stars. I’d gotten as far as figuring out that they were meets but... it feels like this stopped being a thing a while back. You have most of the big ones up to Beijing, but then it kinda stops.”

“I started it when I was a kid,” Michael says. “I wanted to, like, literally see where I was going. What it was all for. There was a time when I didn’t have medals to remind me, you know.”

He pulls away from Ryan and roots around in his desk drawer. Michael finds what he’s looking for and returns to the wall, peeling stars off of the backing paper he’s holding and adding them to the map. “I kept a, uh, practice journal, I guess you could call it. Like a log. They’re all at my place, though. And that was sort of to remind me how far I’d come. This was meant to be looking at where I was going. To help me get excited about all of these places I’d see.”

“Did it work?”

Michael shakes his head. “Not really. It all seemed a bit... abstract? And then I started going to all of these meets and got even more jaded, because... well, you know what it’s like. Airport, hotel, pool, hotel, pool, hotel, pool, airport.”

“I... yeah, kinda,” Ryan shrugs.

“It wasn’t like that for you?” Michael stops sticking and turns to look at Ryan.

“I feel sad that you look back on it like that,” Ryan says quietly, turning to look at the map. “Maybe it’s because you’re still in the middle of it. Maybe it’s because you started so young and you had chaperones and stuff. And maybe it’s because you’re so... focused. Dedicated.” 

Ryan points to Michael’s Sydney star. “But here, for example. I remember... getting my tattoo. Having an argument with you about yours – sorry for being such a grown up, by the way. And the after parties. And... well, a bunch of other stuff, let’s not go there. And, obviously, our trip for New Year, but that’s different.”

He moves his finger across the map to Japan and smiles. “Japan’s crazy. Hilary and I went to this art museum after the meet was over. And you won your first World title that week.”

Ryan moves east to another star in Japan. “And this was the year after, for Pan Pacs?” Michael nods. Ryan shakes his head with a smile. “I don’t remember a lot about what happened after. I had a delayed birthday celebration and... well, it got pretty messy. So maybe my memories aren’t any better than yours!”

He looks at Michael again. “It’s sad that you’ve been so far, but it’s all for the same reason, and always involves you thinking about the pool,” Ryan says, taking Michael’s hand and squeezing it. “I mean, obviously it’s great too. You’ve been so successful. But it like... makes me want to take you back, show you all of the other things you can see and do.”

“I...” Michael hesitates, looking down at their hands. “I don’t know if I want to go back to all of them. That kinda feels like doing the same thing, just going back to fix my experience or whatever. I wasn’t, like, trying to start something by us going to Sydney.”

Ryan tilts his chin up and nods. “I know. It was just a suggestion.” He gestures to the map. “There’s also a hell of a lot of ground you haven’t covered.” He peels a star off Michael’s sheet and hands it to him. “Here. Close your eyes.”

Michael rolls his eyes instead. “This is stupid.”

“No it isn’t!” Ryan counters, gaining enthusiasm for his idea and taking a star for himself. “Put me in the right spot in a sec, just humour me?”

Michael nods reluctantly. Ryan closes his eyes and spins around, counting backwards from ten. He steadies himself and Michael grips his shoulders, pointing him at the wall and placing his free hand above the map to give him a little perspective. Ryan puts his star down and cautiously opens his eyes, laughing immediately.

“Rio!” he howls. “Oh the irony. Maybe I should get back into training, it’s a sign.” He turns to Michael, who looks distinctly unimpressed.

“Yeah, I’ll coach you,” he replies sarcastically. He closes his eyes and spins, as Ryan had. Ryan points him in the right direction and Michael plants his star on the map. He opens his eyes to see Ryan nodding his approval.

“New Zealand,” he smiles. “Good shout, MP. Well, that gives us something to think about, hey?” He takes Michael’s hand again and tugs him towards the door. “C’mon. That was fun, but I’m still hungry.”

“Yeah, if you’re gonna start training again, you also need to start eating like a swimmer again,” Michael tells him as they leave the room.

“Oh, I’ve missed the swimmer diet, you have no idea,” Ryan grins. “Seriously, getting used to eating like a normal person is one of the worst things about retirement.”

They reach the bottom of the stairs and Michael pulls Ryan in close, kissing him. “I’m glad I’ll have you to guide me through that,” he murmurs against Ryan’s lips.

“Hey, that’s another good idea!” Ryan grins. “The Retirement Cookbook. You can be, like, the case study and write a foreword and I’ll do the actual food cooking and stuff. And then maybe I’ll get a TV show to go with it and that’ll obviously lead to, like, a kitchenware range and...”

Michael throws an arm around Ryan’s shoulders and steers him towards the kitchen. “Easy, Martha Stewart. This better not end with you going to prison for fraud.”

“Would you visit?”

“No, I’d hire a bent lawyer to get you off the hook. Then we’d have to go on the run.”

“So we’re back to the round the world plan, following the stars,” Ryan decides. “I can handle that.”

“Good. Because I’ve just decided that it’s happening. It’ll keep you out of trouble.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Ryan grins. “But you’re cheering me up, so thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Michael smiles back. “Let’s eat. Because then we can get out of here and I can welcome you to your new home.”

*

The first two weeks after Ryan moves in, Michael barely sleeps, and it’s not because he’s up all night fucking Ryan into the mattress. His brain refuses to switch off, and even though he knows that Ryan is safe and reasonably content, lying next to him peacefully asleep, Michael can’t help but think that it’s all wrong, and it’s all his fault.

He knows that Ryan hadn’t wanted this, that he had a career plan and that it had been going incredibly well. Michael was proud of him. But everything had come crashing down, all because of Michael being unable to keep a lid on his decade-long crush for just a few more years. All because Michael had gotten impatient and greedy. And now the rest of Ryan’s life was off balance. His entire future was changed, through no fault of his own.

So Michael lies awake, worrying about Ryan resenting him and their relationship, and that potentially failing at some point too. As he inches closer to retirement – now barely over a year away – Michael worries about how little else he has. He counts off in his head the things he has besides swimming: his family, his dog and Ryan. He has enough money to keep himself going, even if he does end up putting a lot of it behind a few bars or into a few casinos when he retires. He has a charity, but that’s mostly taken care of for him by other people, although he does travel and make appearances in line with that occasionally. Some of his endorsements stretch into retirement as well. But Michael hasn’t got a real job. And if Ryan disappears from his life, then that’s his own life plan in tatters.

His concerns about Ryan leaving aren’t just tied up with Ryan’s potential frustration at their relationship causing the collapse of his career. Since Ryan moved in, they’ve argued more than they ever have previously in their relationship. It’s been a long time since Michael spent so much time with one person – even a person that he loves – and he isn’t used to sharing his space with anyone but Herman.

They mostly snipe over little things: Michael can’t find a pair of goggles he put down when he accidentally sat on them having shoved them in a pocket, only to learn that Ryan has put them in a new storage space he’s sorted out but not told Michael about; he comes home from practice and tries to make a sandwich, but half of the ingredients he wants to use are missing, because Ryan’s cleaned the refrigerator out but not been to the store yet; he can’t find the hoodie he wants to wear, and learns that it’s in the washing machine.

Michael lists these things off one lunchtime when he gets home from morning practice and Ryan looks at him as if he’s grown another head. “What exactly is the problem here?” Ryan asks.

“I can’t find any of my stuff!” Michael thunders.

“Because I’m tidying up after you!” Ryan counters. “I’m only doing what the cleaning lady used to do!”

“What do you mean, ‘used to do’?”

“I told her we didn’t need her at the moment,” Ryan replies. “I’m here, I have to do something or I’ll go nuts, so I thought I might as well...”

“Sack the cleaning lady?”

“I didn’t sack her,” Ryan clarifies. “I told her she doesn’t have to come so often right now. Is that a problem?”

“It’s my house,” Michael points out. Ryan blinks as if he’s been slapped.

“Right,” Ryan replies, grabbing Carter’s leash and whistling for the dog, who comes running instantly. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

“Where are you going?”

“For a walk,” Ryan throws over his shoulder. “Out of your house.”

He slams the door behind him, leaving Michael to try and figure out what happened.

*

When Michael returns from his afternoon workout, Carter dashes over to greet him – followed by Herman, at his usual sedate pace – meaning that Ryan must’ve gotten over himself enough to return home. Michael pets both dogs and can smell food in the air which, in turn, means that Ryan’s probably feeling guilty.

“Hey,” Ryan says, stepping into the hallway.

“Hi,” Michael replies, not looking up from the dogs.

“Are you taking a nap or do you want to eat now?” Ryan asks.

“Let’s eat,” Michael says quietly. “I went to the gym angry, I don’t want to go to bed angry too.”

Ryan’s set up the food on the terrace and they sit down to eat. Neither of them says anything for a few minutes as they get started on the food. It’s Ryan who breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry I stormed out,” he says, making eye contact with Michael.

Michael puts his fork down and swallows. “I’m, uh, sorry I yelled. And I’m sorry that I came across as ungrateful.”

“I forgot this would be hard for lots of reasons, rather than just one,” Ryan admits. “It’s not like we planned this, or moved in together purely because we love each other. It just... happened. So I can see why it feels like an invasion for you. And you’re tired all the time with training and... I’m starting to go a little crazy. But that’s not your fault.” He reaches across the table and takes Michael’s hand. “I am glad that I’m here. I wish it could’ve happened for a better reason.”

Michael nods. “Me too.” He picks his fork back up and continues eating.

“Are you going to tell me what’s really wrong?” Ryan asks quietly.

“Nothing,” Michael shakes his head. “Just building up to Worlds.” Without looking up he can tell Ryan raises an eyebrow. Michael hadn’t thought about what it’d be like to live with a coach either. A coach who’s his boyfriend, who knows him inside out.

“I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Ryan pushes.

“So?” Michael says defensively. He looks up into Ryan’s concerned face and suddenly feels fifteen again, stood by his locker on Christmas day, showing off his tattoo.

“You’re exhausted,” Ryan points out. “But you’re not sleeping.”

“So, I’m nervous or something,” Michael tries to shrug off Ryan’s concern, returning his attention to his food.

“Well that’s not like you either,” Ryan counters. “I just want to help. I’m worried about you.”

“Well can you not?” Michael asks, temper rising again. “I’ve just got home from a long day and I want to relax, not face an inquisition. If I wanted that, I’d go to my Mom’s.”

He picks up his plate and pushes his chair back quickly, startling the dogs who are dozing nearby. “Michael...” Ryan frowns.

“No. Nothing’s wrong. You haven’t done anything, it’s not all about you,” Michael lies. “I’m going to finish my dinner. Then I’m going to take a shower. Then I’m going to bed. Okay?”

He doesn’t give Ryan a chance to protest. Michael heads inside and goes through to his study, locking the door behind him. Michael tries to settle down and eat, but he’s suddenly not hungry. He switches his laptop on and thinks about playing a few rounds of poker, but is distracted by the screen which pops up at him. His previous search had been about coach/athlete relationships and how they affect other people. Unable to get thoughts of Ryan and his career out of his head, Michael returns to the search and starts reading, trying to get some answers.

*

As the World Championships draw closer, Michael pulls further away from Ryan. He spends his time in the water trying to figure out how to make amends, how to compensate for being responsible for Ryan having to leave his job and the path he was enjoying. Michael fails to reach a conclusion and heads to Shanghai in a daze.

Having spent weeks worrying about Ryan, Michael’s unprepared for the reaction he receives at his first international meet since the story of their relationship broke. It’s overwhelming, and he feels fifteen again with the amount of people around him trying to push the crowds away and allow him to concentrate. Michael puts his head down, pulls his headphones on and turns the volume up to drown out the questions.

Very little about the words people throw his way actually bothers Michael, but it comes from all sides. His teammates – particularly the ones who were coached by Ryan full-time – resent him for the fact that they’ve lost Ryan’s expertise. Some go as far as suggesting that he’s been receiving special treatment from both Ryan and Bob for a long time. The ready room is normally Michael’s sanctuary, where he’s so far into his bubble that he doesn’t even see a person stood right in front of him, but at this meet, he sees and hears everything: athletes from other nations begin whispering too, feeding on the comments his own teammates have been making. A few of the other senior members of the national team close ranks and snarl at anyone making ludicrous comments and they soon back away, but Michael cares very little about the remarks.

He also doesn’t care that a good percentage of the team ostracise him, or blame him for their own preparation being off course due to Ryan’s absence. Sometimes, Michael bites back that it’s not Ryan’s fault, that each athlete is responsible for himself. Mostly, he just ignores it. He gets steamed up if he hears anyone so much as think about attacking Ryan personally – he can’t help himself – but other than that he keeps himself to himself. The previous years of isolation pay off in this instance, and Michael’s glad that he’s never been an athlete to rely on the rest of the team to buoy him up or support him.

His concern for Ryan and his family grows, though. Michael finds himself wanting to protect Ryan and their families, aware now that his desire to push swimming as a sport forwards and help to widen participation has a knock on effect on those around him, and that it isn’t always pleasant. Michael’s fame means that he can afford nice things and be generous to the people he loves, but that they also get an increased amount of attention, which some of them aren’t prepared for.

Michael makes it through two finals – winning a bronze as part of the relay team and a silver in his first individual event – before Ryan cracks. Michael has been refusing to actually speak to his boyfriend, checking in via text message instead. He’s in his room receiving a massage from his trainer when somebody else answers the door and lets Ryan in.

Ryan pulls up a chair and sits by Michael’s head as his trainer finishes. When the massage is over and the trainer has gone, Ryan finally speaks up.

“I was going to wait until we were home to ask why you’ve got a giant stick up your ass, but I can’t sit here and watch you bomb this meet,” Ryan tells him. “So out with it. I don’t care what you have to say, however bad it is, I want to hear it and I’m hearing it now.”

“I don’t think two medals is bombing it,” Michael replies.

Ryan claps slowly. “That what you wanted?”

“I’m really not in the mood to sit and talk about my feelings,” Michael says. “I want to have something to eat, think about tomorrow’s races and go to sleep.”

“You can do all of that,” Ryan nods. “After you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Has Bob not figured it out yet?” Michael asks, sitting up and pulling a t-shirt on. “He normally has this shit locked down.”

“He’s got as far as realising that it’s personal and we’re adults and that we should fix it without him getting involved. And I’m inclined to agree. He wanted me to talk to you about this sooner, so you should be thanking you for fighting your corner and leaving you be for this long.”

“How long have you guys been talking about me behind my back?” Michael asks angrily.

“Since long before we got together. I was a national team coach then, remember?” Ryan points out.

“You’re not now,” Michael retorts, regretting it when he sees Ryan flinch. The older man doesn’t retaliate though.

“Come on, Michael. You’re not stupid. You know he talks to your Mom and your sisters too. He has to, he needs to know how you’re coping when he hasn’t got his eye on you. And at the moment you clearly aren’t. Seeing as we’re all pretty certain this relates to me, we thought it’d be best if I handled it. If you disagree, you tell me who you’d like to talk to instead and I’ll send them in. But I’d much rather we have this out.”

They stare each other out for a few minutes, Michael setting his jaw in determination. “I can do this,” he insists. “The relay was... not my fault. And today I was close. My other races will be better.”

Ryan reaches out and takes his hand. “Please let me help you. That’s why I’m here. That’s why we’re all here, to support you, to make sure you do your best.”

Michael pulls away from Ryan’s grasps and puts his head in his hands, mumbling, “I’ll fix it, okay? I just need time.”

“Fix what?” Ryan asks, a hint of desperation creeping into his voice. “I don’t understand.”

“You!”

“But... I’m not broken?”

“You don’t have a career anymore because of me. I want to fix it.”

“What?” Ryan is no closer to understanding Michael’s issue. Michael doesn’t know how to make himself understood.

“I’ve been thinking and thinking about it. What you can do instead. I know someone who was in a similar situation just switched sports but he’s a scientist not a coach and they’re a straight couple and I don’t know if that makes a difference...” Michael has stood up and is pacing the room.

Ryan stands up and faces Michael, holding him still. “It’s not for you to worry about.”

“Yes it is! I...” Michael waves an arm around as if to demonstrate, “I let this happen.”

Ryan pushes on Michael’s shoulders until he sits down on the bed. He takes the younger man’s hand and speaks firmly. “Listen to me. This is not your fault. You did so much for me, for us. You did everything I asked. And I am so grateful for that, you have no idea. I... I owe you an apology. You shouldn’t be thinking that this is on you, and for that I’m sorry. You did what I asked you to do, you did nothing wrong. It wasn’t you who ratted us out, who made the officials and my bosses react the way they did. Perhaps I could’ve played it better, told the other staff. We still could’ve kept it on the down low but... we can’t change anything we’ve done now.”

Ryan pauses to take a breath. “And I’m sorry that we got outed, that it wasn’t our call and our choice to tell the world. But you know what? I regret none of this. This has been hard and sometimes painful. But I’ve learned something: the best things are worth fighting for. I gave up when I had a good thing before. I’m not doing it again.”

“I... what are you saying?” Michael asks, taking his own turn to be confused.

“That I love you. That you’re the thing that matters most to me. If you gamble your millions away and the only thing I can find to do is flipping burgers or stacking shelves, I’ll do it. I actually don’t care what job I do, as long as we’re together,” he laughs. “That’s corny as fuck and I sound like a sixteen year old girl but I could care less. Are you listening to me?”

Michael nods slowly. “Good,” Ryan continues. “Are you going to let me worry about my own career and you worry about yours?”

Michael nods again. “I think it’s time we made a deal,” Ryan states.

“I’m listening,” Michael confirms warily.

Ryan holds out his hand. “We only mess with each other’s work if asked.”

Michael takes Ryan’s hand and shakes. “Done.”

“Glad we agree,” Ryan smiles. He waits a moment before standing up. “I’m gonna leave now. Bob’s outside waiting to go over your races for tomorrow. Then you can eat and sleep. Okay?”

Michael looks up at Ryan and nods. Ryan groans. “Fuck. I wasn’t gonna, but,” he leans down and kisses Michael softly.

Michael wraps a hand around Ryan’s neck and hums into the kiss. “Thank you,” he murmurs.

“You’re welcome,” Ryan responds softly. “But I really have to go. Bob said I could come in here as long as we kept it clean.”

Michael pulls a face and Ryan nods. “Good, glad that thought had the desired effect. You call me if you need to talk, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’m, uh, sorry for avoiding you.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Ryan tells him, crossing the room and opening the door. “Just don’t do it again.”

Ryan exits, Bob enters and Michael moves his mind on to the remainder of the meet.

*

True to his word, Michael finishes Worlds much better than he started. As Ryan doesn’t need to rush home, they book a last-minute – if unimaginative – break in order to continue their mission to visit new places. 

The warmth and the relaxed pace of life in Hawaii soothe both of them. Much of the first two days are spent sleeping and lying in the sun, before Ryan gives in to his adventurous streak and gets on a surfboard for the first time in far too long. Michael smiles as he watches his boyfriend carve through the waves from the beach, a little sad that he can’t join him, but pleased that he doesn’t have to annoy himself by being nowhere near as good as Ryan, who grew up doing it.

The rest of the week passes in a similar fashion, both of their tans being cranked up to a new level – Ryan easily winning the battle of who can get their skin darker fastest. Over dinner on their last night, Ryan clears his throat and starts a conversation about work.

“How would you feel about me working at Meadowbrook?” he asks.

Michael’s eyes widen and he isn’t sure what to say. “Uh...” he offers.

Ryan smiles. “Not as your coach. I know we’ve smoothed a few things out, but I’m not sure our relationship could take that,” he clarifies. “There’s been a position come available with the younger swimmers and I... I’m seriously considering applying.”

“Have you spoken to Bob about it?”

“A little,” Ryan admits. “He wasn’t all that keen, thought I was doing it for the wrong reasons, until I explained what my actual reasons are.”

“And they are?” Michael prompts.

Ryan regards him carefully. “The time off has been better for me than I thought. I loved what I was doing before, but since moving in with you, I realised that it’s not really what I want for the next few years.”

Michael frowns. “I don’t understand.”

“Well, elite coaches travel a lot, as I think you know,” Ryan smiles wryly. “And I just feel like... you’re retiring next year. And we’ve never spent that much time together, even though we live together now and... well we were talking about travelling and... I know there’s other stuff we’re both thinking about for the future...”

Michael’s eyes widen. “You mean like having kids?”

Ryan nods. “There’s that... I just think it’d be nice to have something that’s a bit less... heavily committed. A bit more about having fun, rather than targets and medals and win bonuses. Like... there’s no harm in trying it.”

“Sounds like you’ve put a lot of thought into it.”

“Yeah, I have,” Ryan agrees. “If you want more time to think about it...”

“Do it,” Michael tells him. “See what happens.”

“Are you sure?”

Michael picks up his glass and raises it. “Yes. To kids: teaching them and having them.”

Ryan laughs and raises his glass too. “I’ll drink to that.”

*

“Hey,” Ryan says a little breathlessly. “You arrived?”

“Yeah,” Michael says suspiciously. “You having a heart attack or something?”

“No,” Ryan replies, wounded. “I just had to run the entire length of the apartment to stop Stella rummaging through the trash again. Someone’s coming for a second viewing today so the place needs to look good.”

“Okay, I’ll let you off,” Michael agrees, flopping down onto his bed. He’s never understood why Olympic Village beds are only made to fit the very smallest Olympians. If Michael ever runs an Olympics, he’s made a mental note more than once to fix that flaw.

“What’s the Village like? You over-indulged on the free Maccy D’s yet?” Ryan asks, sounding like he’s still wrestling with at least one dog. They’d acquired a third earlier in the year, though neither of them can quite remember how a discussion about when they might actually start the process of having kids turned into them getting a third dog.

“I’ve only just got here, not even figured out where to get a Big Mac yet,” Michael laments. “And now I want onion rings.”

Ryan laughs. “At least it’s the right time of day for those where you are. Sounds like I should leave you to go and investigate.”

“No, I don’t want to hang up,” Michael insists, wincing at how dependent that sounds. “I miss all of you.”

“I know,” Ryan replies. “We miss you too. They’re all sick of my Bad Cop routine. Herman climbed into bed this morning and asked me when Fun Dad’s coming home.”

Michael snorts. “If only that were true.”

“He did!” Ryan protests. “Okay, well, he just grunted and sneezed in my face, but I bet if you Googled it, that’d be the translation.”

Michael smiles, pleased to be listening to Ryan’s voice. When they’d arrived home the previous year, Ryan had put his application in to work at Meadowbrook and an offer was made pretty quickly – he’d looked at Michael very suspiciously, not wanting to ask whether Michael had had a hand in the offer, but was pleased to be doing something meaningful again.

Before the end of the year, one of the national team coaches had announced that they would be stepping down. Ryan’s phone had rung surprisingly quickly afterwards, and it ended up being one of the occasions where Michael and Ryan lifted their embargo on work discussion. He sought Bob’s advice too and, once he’d made his choice, Ryan went to Florida to deliver his decision to Gregg in person: he wouldn’t be coaching for the national team again, not while Michael was still swimming, and not after he retired.

Ryan joined the Phelps cheer squad in the stands at each of Michael’s meets in the run up to London, competing with Michael’s sisters and Mom to see who could shout and whistle the loudest. They were all due to arrive in London in time for Michael’s first race, and would stay until just after his last.

Michael’s thoughts of lying on the beach in two weeks time with Ryan are broken by his boyfriend shouting. “Mike! You still there?”

“Sorry, what?” Michael asks, yawning.

“I said: how many sweaters do I need to pack? Is it cold there?”

Michael rolls his eyes. “I thought I taught you how to work that thing called the Internet? It’ll tell you way more accurately than I can.”

“Thanks for your assistance,” Ryan replies sarcastically, but Michael can tell he’s smiling. “Babe, I’m sorry, but I’ve gotta go. I’m totally outnumbered here.”

“Well that’ll teach you for sacking the cleaning lady,” Michael retorts.

“Alright, smart ass. I love you. And I’ll see you soon.”

“I love you too.”

“Enjoy your onion rings.”

*

Once Michael’s been officially crowned the Greatest Olympian of All Time, he and Ryan jet off to the Maldives for a well-earned vacation. It’s VIP all the way: Michael organised the trip to completely spoil them both, starting with a private jet, continuing with a private cabana on an almost-private island – Ryan quickly makes a joke about noticing a theme – which has a private hot tub under what feel like private stars.

They mark their arrival by spending several hours getting to know various surfaces within the cabana, finishing with the generous bed. Ryan ends up spread-eagled on the mattress, exhausted and groaning.

Michael rolls his eyes. “You’re supposed to be as only be as old as the man you feel. Do I need to remind you that I’m twenty-seven, not ninety?” he asks as he gets up and disappears into the bathroom.

“Do I need to remind you that it’s more than a decade, rather than a little over two days since I was an Olympian?” Ryan manages to call out.

“Weak, Lochte,” Michael replies. He ducks his head out of the bathroom. “So... I’m out of toothpaste. Please tell me you brought some?”

Ryan nods. “Yeah. It’s in my bag, have at it,” he confirms with a wave of his hand, not making any other movement.

Michael goes back into the bathroom and starts rummaging around in Ryan’s toiletries. He hears a loud, “FUCK!” at the same moment as his fingers brush over something unexpected. Ryan appears behind him in the doorway a second later and his face drops when Michael turns around.

“Can you, like, un-see that?” Ryan asks hopefully.

“Un-see what?” Michael asks dumbly.

Ryan jerks his head towards the item in Michael’s hand. Michael looks down in mock shock, as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh this?” he asks, turning around and rooting around in his own bag. “Oh,” he says again when he finds what he’s looking for.

He turns back around and walks towards Ryan, holding out the older man’s possession for him to take. “I wasn’t worried, much,” Michael says quietly. “Because I thought I’d just made a mistake and looked in my own stuff.” He reveals what he’s just pulled out of his own bag, causing Ryan’s jaw to drop.

They stand still for a moment, looking down at the matching ring boxes in their outstretched palms. “Great minds,” Ryan muses.

“What happens now?” Michael asks, confused.

“Well... I didn’t want anything to happen now,” Ryan answers. “Apart from falling asleep with you in my arms on our giant bed.”

“So I do have to un-see it then?”

Ryan shrugs. “I don’t know. What was your plan?”

“Eh. Something cheesy involving dinner – like, I wasn’t going to put it in champagne or anything – and more words than I normally use and a declaration of love and, hopefully, you saying yes. You?”

“I didn’t have one. But if I did, it wouldn’t have involved us stood butt naked and post-coital in the bathroom.”

Michael laughs. “Yeah, not really a story fit for the grandkids, is it?”

“We could just lie?” Ryan suggests.

“Probably best.”

Ryan takes a deep breath, clears his throat and slowly sinks onto one knee. He pops the box he’s holding open and looks up at Michael. “I’m sorry you went looking for toothpaste and found this,” he says soberly. “But will you marry me anyway?”

Michael joins Ryan on one knee and opens his own box. “Only if you’ll marry me too.”

Ryan grins. “That’s kinda the idea, yes.”

“Was that a yes or just yes?”

“It was a hell motherfucking yes,” Ryan confirms. He holds still as Michael removes the ring from the box and pushes it onto his finger.

Ryan gets distracted admiring the shiny piece of jewellery he’s just received until Michael clears his throat. “Oh, right, sorry,” Ryan blushes, taking the ring out of his box and offering it to Michael. Michael holds out his hand and Ryan slides the ring on with a smile. “Like, can I still kiss you or do I have to wait until someone official says we can?”

Michael raises an eyebrow. “We’re kneeling naked on the floor and you think you have to ask that question?”

“Good point,” Ryan nods, leaning forward and kissing Michael. He pulls away far too quickly for Michael’s liking. “Dude, for a hot country, the bathroom floor’s still fucking freezing. Brush your teeth and come back to bed.”

Ryan gets up and heads back into the bedroom. “And don’t worry,” he calls through to Michael, “you won’t find any other surprises in the rest of my stuff.”

*

**_Twelve years later..._ **

“Did dinosaurs live here?” a voice above Michael’s head asks.

“Um...” he falters, as usual thrown for a loop by the random questions a five year old asks on an hourly basis. “I don’t know bud. Ry? What does the book say.”

“It says there were no dinosaurs,” Ryan replies quickly – far too quickly for Michael’s liking. “But there were definitely unicorns here.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Really, Daddy?” another voice asks excitedly. “Are there pictures?”

“Yes, somewhere in Daddy’s imagination,” Michael responds dryly, coming to a halt at the top of the slope they’ve been climbing. He retrieves the child from his shoulders, setting him down on the ground, but holding him still and crouching to look at him seriously. “Remember what I said about running?”

The boy nods solemnly. “Be careful,” he repeats.

“Exactly,” Michael smiles. “Stay where we can see you.”

Michael straightens back up and watches as his daughter reaches out for his son’s hand and leads the way across the site they’ve arrived at. Ryan slips a hand into Michael’s and stands next to him, watching their children crouch to look at something of interest.

“Did you have to, with the unicorns?” Michael asks.

Ryan squeezes his hand. “I do it as much to mess with you as I do to mess with them,” he admits.

“No shit,” Michael mutters.

“Aww, c’mon MP-L,” Ryan grins. “Where’s your sense of humour gone?”

“It got left behind about half way up that sweaty walk with our kid on my shoulders,” Michael grumbles.

“But you’re the young and fit one,” Ryan points out. “And anyways, I’ve gotta keep you in shape somehow.”

“Going to trade me in for a younger model if I don’t keep my body how you like it?”

Ryan shakes his head and leans in for a kiss. “Not a chance.”

“Hey Daddy!” Ava calls out. “Come and look at this!”

They both groan. “So much for an ancient monument keeping them amused,” Ryan murmurs.

They pull apart but head over to their children hand in hand to investigate what they’ve found. Michael thinks back to the time when he thought that retirement would be decades of terrifying boredom with a wry smile. He hadn’t had a hope of getting bored.

When Maryland made the smart choice to legalise same-sex marriage three months after Michael and Ryan got engaged, Michael had made it his mission to be the first married gay couple in the state. It was the first time they’d spent New Years in the US since getting together, but they relished the break from tradition when they got married on New Years Day and, naturally, flew off on honeymoon that night.

A move to a large family home had soon followed, which kept Michael busy – along with his charity and commercial commitments – while Ryan continued coaching kids at Meadowbrook. They’d then proceeded to spend a blissful two years working through a comprehensive list of destinations on their now-shared world map, sometimes to places they’d been before, sometimes to new horizons.

Michael had long ago promised his mother that they’d go to Rio together, so Michael went to his first Olympics as a spectator with his Mom, constantly checking in at home on the progress of his and Ryan’s latest venture throughout the trip. As well as the usual gifts, Christmas that year had brought them a daughter who, two and a half years later – between Michael and Ryan’s own birthdays – had been joined by a brother.

They continue to travel as a family, plotting an increasing trail of stars across their world map. This trip had been Noah’s choice, with his fifth birthday taking place in the middle. He’d chosen Greece, apparently because he wanted to visit one of his Dad’s old stars. Ryan had been into the idea straight away and, since they’d arrived in Athens, had made several jokes about whether it looked the same to Michael twenty years after his previous visit, and how much older he looked, none of which do anything to deplete Michael’s anxiety about having had the final birthday of his thirties.

“I think this could be a good theme, you know,” Ryan muses later when the kids are in bed and they’re on the terrace of their hotel suite, admiring the view. “Like, dude, we could even market this commercially. You could be a tour operator and everything.”

Michael rolls his eyes. “Oh, the press’ll love that,” he agrees sarcastically. He adopts a tour guide voice, “And here, ladies and gentlemen, if you’d like to peer down this back alley, you can see the exact spot where Ryan and I had our first drunken, closeted grope.”

Ryan laughs softly. “I didn’t say you had to include the gory details,” he cuffs Michael on the arm. “It’s a shame they let the venue go to shit, though. I’d have liked to have seen it in person.”

“Do you think it’d be weird to take them to London?” Michael asks.

“Um. No? There’s loads to look at there, why would it be weird?”

“No, I meant the park,” Michael continues. “Like, the pool’s open and stuff. Anyone can swim there.”

“You checked?” Ryan smiles, teasing. “You big geek.”

Michael blushes and shrugs. “Out of the Olympic pools I swam in, it’s the only one,” he points out.

Ryan leans over and kisses him softly. “We can take them anywhere you want,” he smiles. “Except maybe that alley. Even I don’t want to see that place in daylight.”

“London for my fortieth then,” Michael decides with a groan. “Ugh. Forty.”

“Hey!” Ryan chastises. “It’s really not that bad. Aren’t I living proof?”

“Eh, you seem to be doing alright.”

“It’s better than alright,” Ryan murmurs, leaning in for another kiss and taking Michael’s hand, leading him back inside. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

As he watches Ryan walk through to the bedroom, pulling his shirt off, Michael’s mind drifts to thoughts of how they came to be here. There were numerous barriers in their relationship, but together, Michael and Ryan have grown up and learned to build a life for themselves. There has been compromise, there have been tough days and weeks and months. But together they’ve achieved more than Michael thought possible.

When he was twelve years old, Michael Phelps sat down with his mother and his coach and mapped out the following fifteen years of his life. When he was twenty six, Ryan Lochte promised that they could go wherever they wanted. Neither journey has been easy, but both are proving worth it.


End file.
